Mutual
by Puttefujs
Summary: Life goes on - after all. Sburb is over, and the heroes are to live in average among humanity such as we know today. Dave spends a week in Washington at John's place, celebrating christmas together with him, Roxy and Jose. He has been nurturing a crush on John throughout the years, and this might just be the week for him to let his feelings unfold. Tall!John !crack!
1. The proposal

Hello, dear reader. This story is silly, cliché and fluffy - and may later on contain angst, doubt and what follows close behind.** You have been warned.**

The chapter is written, even when in third person, primarily from Dave's view. You may notice on the way - judging from the jabs of comments and heavy amount of sarcasm and phenomenons akin.

From chapter one to seven the story is written from 1rst view. Afterwards it'll be in 3rd view.

Contains **M** rated situations later on.

Pairing: **John Egbert x Dave Strider**

**Status: Constructed - 19-06-2013.**

* * *

**You knew exactly when it started,**

**and how it began. **

**But you do not tell yourself that, **

**because you are not in love.**

A friday evening you observe your mirror reflection in silence, deciding which angle of you makes you look the best.

You tread a step back and reach out for your expensive camera, making sure to get a tight grip of the lug before lifting it. Guiding it up in front of you and a little above your head, you pose. Stiff as always, not even a trace of a smile perches your lips, and you leave your aviator glasses on as you snap some photos. Subsequently your eyes wander through the taken photos, considering which one might be the most personable. You squint your eyes and zoom in on one decent picture. Faint freckles are dotted along your cheeks, and damn, that is just not a _pretty_ sight.

You snatch the memo card from the camera and plug it into your computer, uploading the pictures in silence. Right until your pesterchum beeps at you - demanding your attention abruptly.

You open the pesterlog to find navy blue letters fixed at you.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 17:13

EB: hey dave.

EB: dave.

EB: dave are you there?

EB: leaving your computer while your pesterchum is chummy is rude!

TG: dude youre so far up there man

TG: straddling the clouds

TG: tell father i have sinned

EB: dave!

EB: that apology is not good enough, young man.

TG: im older than you egbert remember?

EB: just thought i could rule the moment for a while.

**Fuck it, you are totally in love** – and you've been for a while. Somehow a smile tugs the corners of you lips, and you furrow your brows, stretching your arms above your head and yawn loudly until your jaw makes a popping noise.

Fingers returning to the keyboard, you ponder for a moment about what to write.

TG: im not in for this heroic discussion right now

TG: so

TG: the almighty dave strider

TG: bugde and oh he bows too and hes on his knees hanging his head in shame

TG: he will worship king egderp for eternal time

TG: and shit hes supple like the fucking messiah himself with his smooth words

EB: you're being very dramatic right now, dave!

EB: but the title, king, fits me well!

TG: sure does john go on have your beautiful imaginations while reality itself stand on the sideline hooting for you

EB: i will, dave, i will.

EB: by the way, the last time we met we were both thirteen, right?

You instantly stop typing, fingers hovering above the keyboard – in reality more than ready to return another snarky comment, but this is unexpected.

You scrunch up your nose and massages the wrinkles shaping between your eyebrows. This is not good.

TG: yeah and we were at my house right?

EB: yes and god your brother is so weird!

TG: don't push your luck man

TG: bro is like a fucking ninja lurking in the darkness somewhere always watching you

TG: in fact i think hes standing behind me right now reading our glorious pesterlog

EB: dave you've threatened me with this before.

EB: he's not behind you.

Eb: right?

You can literally sense him rolling his eyes behind the square framed glasses somewhere in Washington. You chuckle softly and bring a hand up to the nape of your neck, gently massaging the fuzzy skin there and your blonde tufts.

TG: its just good humour dude

TG: dont get your panties in a bunch

EB: panties aren't really my thing.

EB: did you take that picture of you?

EB: it's been three years after all since we last saw each other.

TG: why

TG: are you willing to get your fingers into my rad pie?

EB: now that sounds wrong.

TG: you sound wrong

TG: nvm

There he goes again, abruptly changing the subject.

And now that he reminds you of it, last time you met was in Sburb - approximately three years ago. The first time you met up was five years ago when he decided to board the next plane heading for Texas. That was before the Sburb session. Things might have changed since then, you think. You've grown a lot, and the daily strifing on the roof with Bro surely has paid off, despite that you still have quite the lanky appearance.

Just a half hour ago, John had unexpectedly asked for some photos of you. Why, he didn't say – only that he wants to see how you look like now. Your mind is heaving beyond suspicion.

The pesterlog beeps again, but you ignore his pestering this time. You have to find a decent picture to hand him. Pictures of yourself are displayed on your computerscreen, but none of them seems good enough? You want to impress him, and you do not understand why. Among girls on your school you are quite the popular, but nonetheless your usual confidence just bounces right off you at the current time.

You also happen to draw yourself into the mindblowing imagination of how John may look like right now.

When you first met him, you had expected for you to be at least at the same height as him – though it seemed to turn out to be the opposite.

You were almost **_a half head_** taller than him, staring down at him behind your broad sunglasses he once gave you.

In Sburb his height had remained the same. Now that it's over, what does he look like now?

After a few minutes of desperate groans not to be mentioned, you finally manage to pick a presentable picture. There is nothing special about it, just you laying on your back in your bed, camera lifted and your face and shoulders in view. It looks pretty great, you manage to compliment. You took that picture a week ago when the sun had yet to settle down, as you in boredom bustled around in the apartment and took some random pictures.

EB: dave!

EB: i am going to sing for you if you do not return within the next minute.

EB: perhaps i'll present you my earlier collection of Nicolas Cage movies?

EB: i'll spam you with pictures of my super dandy croc shoes my dad bought me a half year ago!

TG: dude thats like social suicide wearing those nasty pair of rubber

EB: they aren't always made out of rubber! they can also be made out of wood.

TG: oh my god you are so digging those shoes

TG: crocs and nicolas cage

TG: tumblr is going to grill you alive perhaps even crucify you in public

EB: hey! they're nice to wear.

EB: but they give you the worst tan ever.

Eb: don't even ask.

TG: whatever heres that picture you asked for

turntechgodhead [TG] sent ectobiologist [EB] a file named: H0B0. jpg at 17:39 –

**Your name is Dave Strider, and you're about to piss your pants due anticipation.**

You somehow feel like you're intoxicated in your broad, messy room - eyes constantly lingering to the bright HD screen as if it depends your whimsical life. When he doesn't answer during the next two minutes, worry begins to settle in your gut. You open and close the tab of the pesterchat, and once in a while you stop and stare at the bottled taxidermic animals scattered on your desktop - among an amplifier and magazines.

TG: hey john

TG: john man i know my overlevel percent of cool is overwhelming

TG: but come on

TG: i thought youve gotten used to spend time in the kingdom of cool

TG: and this is just a little glimpse of it

You sigh and comb your fingers through your almost white ringlets of hair, slumping deeper into the chair you're currently siting on. You close your eyes for a brief second - vividly imagining how disappointed he would end up being. Those blue eyes may be painted with disgust or anything looming in that area.

It sickens you.

But - you have more important stuff to attend, after all. When your screen once again beeps at you, you almost leap up from the chair, immediately clicking on the pesterlog in order to open the tab.

EB: dave, can we meet up again?

You blink at the screen in astonishment. What is happening? You realize you've been staring at the screen for the past thirty seconds, mouth slightly agape and dumbfounded as you reread those few words over and over again.

TG: whats with this sudden invitation john?

TG: am i too irresistable

TG: cant the almighty king of derp resist the knight of cool?

EB: you're the knight of time!

EB: besides, i just think it could be fun to meet up with you once more.

TG: let me have this moment babe

TG: just this moment

EB: take all the time you want :B.

You literally facepalm yourself 2x combo.

Of course you start babbling nonsense when you get nervous. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you groan into thin air, closing your eyes forcefully for a moment. To your surprise he doesn't seem affected by your witty comments, and eventually he brings up his suggestion once more. In honesty you want nothing more than to meet him again, but you do not want to sound too desperate for his company. Therefore, rather chill, you accept his proposal, and you begin to arrange the meeting.


	2. Height difference

Reviews are highly recommended. *Wink, wonk*

**Status: Constructed - 19-06-2013. **

* * *

Two weeks have passed since then.

You didn't _actually _believe that this meeting would happen.

But hey, here you are. Something sticky is stuck underneath your shoe, and some random kid smothering a chemically influenced lollipop is staring at you from behind his parent - who is awaiting her lover or friend, just as you are.

John is just not your lover, though.

You frown at the kid for a moment, wondering if the lollipop may happen to contain something illegal.

You are in an airport of a city in Washington, eyes observing every motion ongoing around you. People are striding back and forth, some of them hurriedly bumping into you – only a few apologizing. Your grip around the hank of your luggage tightens the more time passes by. You attempt to spot John mingled somewhere in the crowd of people, yet in vain. You groan in annoyance and adjust your shades for the fifth time this minute, absently digging the top of your red Converse sneaker against the linoleum floor to tear off the gum.

You almost jump out of your skin when you feel two hands claim your shoulders, breath hitching as you warily cast a glance over your shoulder. And there he is.

Yep.

** That's** him.

It really is him.

Broad shoulders - pure eyes, tan skin, bucked front teeth.

It feels like your development of puberty is being reversed the moment you see those sapphire eyes. Only his eyes – no square framed glasses standing in the way.

What makes you feel so perplexed though is that you have to look up in order to look him in the eyes.

**You stare.**

You don't even consider how odd this whole situation might appear as, because** god damn**, John fucking Egbert is** taller** than you. And he's got some biceps that really talks for themselves. He hasn't been doing nothing when swinging that hammer of his in Sburb, you're bitterly assure.

_**Oh my god that sounds so fucking wrong**_

Lost in your thoughts, you grimace and furrow your brows, resulting in John to wave one of his hands in front of your face, trying to reconnect you to planet Earth. You snap back into reality, eyes wide behind your huge aviator glasses. John is smiling shamelessly at you, crinkles shaping at his eyes because _he is so goddamn happy_.

''**Sup**,'' you say, and make sure to tell yourself that you are the fucking lamest lamer that ever lamed in the history of lame.

"_Strider,'' _he yaps in return - not really answering your (admittedly) rhetorical question, and he cocks a bemused brow at you. Which unfortunately makes your knees wobble - just a bit, hands balling into fists as you restrain yourself and try not to ogle at his figure.

You feel like such a homo right now it's putting you to shame. The bad vibes might even reach Bro from here.

You are far from ready when he forcefully pulls you closer and _**crushes**_ you, cheek pressed against his collarbone as you exhale what might be your last breath. So really - he's actually almost** a head taller than you** – which should be completely impossible. And yet here you thought that you had grown. Perhas you should just cancel this and go home to bawl into your pillow. May as well punch a wall to **regain** your manliness now that you're at it.

By the time he finally releases you, your cheeks are feeling, indeed, very warm – prickling your cheeks and even your neck a tad. It is a foreign feeling, having his presence within your reach, but your hands are hanging loosely against your sides. Even though you would really prefer to be embraced just one more time - or just forever, you know. You take a step back, a brief smile tugging your lips, resulting another grin from John.

In honesty, you don't want to live on this planet anymore, perhaps. You bet Karkat or Tavros – perhaps both of them are at the current time observing this certainly odd scene, laughing themselves to tears. You somehow feel like shoving your middlefinger threatening into thin air._ Those bastards._

Despite _everything_ - including the fact that John may resemble a _god _from Heaven's porn magazine, the witty atmosphere still lingers among you as you converse.

He escorts you to his car and proudly shows his driving license, goes on babbling about how wonderful it is that his father is no longer ought to drive him. "_Pretty_ neat," you say. "But let's see if you actually live up to this," you tease, smugness thick in your voice as you snatch the card out of his hands and tap your fingers against it. Heck if John is allowed to meet up looking better than you - that is more than enough, but if he's better at driving that you...

You may as well contemplate what your tombstone is to look like.

For a second you swear he actually winces at your challenge, but nonetheless his eyes flickers to the steering wheel as he grabs it tightly. ''All righty then,'' he snorts, presumably mimicking that man from that movie. You believe the actor's name was Jim or something like that. You are surprisingly jolted by a pang of happinss to know that he is still a movie dork.

John turns the key, wearing a grin from ear to ear when the engine hums smoothly. You roll your eyes behind your shades and mumble "show off" to him. He sticks his tongue out at you, and you reply with another snarky comment. It's all good humour, and for that you're happy, considering how this is, perhaps, the fourth time you've met up – including the Sburb session.

The ride to John's house is not as bad as you have suspected. Of course awkward spans of silence occur, but besides that, you're just really happy to see him and his whimiscal smile. You are still to restrain and punch yourself in the gut in internal panic whenever you catch yourself accidentally lingering your gaze on his biceps, even his crotch once. How it ended up that way, you don't know. You grimace at the window pane - away from John, mentally cursing.

* * *

When you arrive, John is quick to catch your luggage, leaving you standing kind of awkwardly next to the car. His house is big and looks like every other house in the neighborhood, which kind of creeps you out – just a tad. A minute after his depart to the house, he emerges in the door frame and waves at you, gesturing for you to come over. So you stride towards the entrance and he, once again, escorts you around.

His dad appears in the kitchen all of sudden on the round tour, and is apparently baking cakes for a whole banquet. So you suspect. Three cakes are still damp laying on the kitchen table – and god, it smells like a piece of heaven.

But you are seriously worried about the cake-baking. John has on forehand warned you about it - not taking lightly on it.

John scoots unnoticed closer to you and whispers something about the brand Betty Crocker, followed by something about medieval_ torture_. Automatically your shoulders hunch by the friction of his warm breath gushing over your skin, and you shudder to John's surprise. He gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug coolly and pretend nothing happened, eyes sent averting everything that is John.

You can remark how John is still eyeing you from the corner of your eyes, plus that he has not moved an inch from his spot. It still feels like you can feel his presence against your back. Jose (Dad Egbert) levels at you in the meantime. Luckily you catch the last part of said words. "_Uh—_ yeah," you begin, blinking your eyes and adjusting your shades with your left hand, the other buried in your pocket. "I'll be dumping my shit here for a week or so," you say in what polite voice you're capable of. You notice a faint, choked noise erupt from John behind you, resulting a wry smile to shape upon your lips.

"Very well," Jose replies before turning to his back to the both of you, thus continuing his baking. He cranes his neck to look at you over his shoulder seconds later, lips parting to form words, yet John is quicker - as if knowing what is to occur; "We do not want cake – yet!" John quips. He claims your shoulders and almost pushes you out of the kitchen.

"Dude," you lift a questioning eyebrow at him as he pushes you the last meters. Damn egbert for being so tall and handso-HIM. It's not like your strength is being questioned here, but you sort of just let him push you around. Not to mention that your body feels like a sack of unstable potatoes whenever his soft hands connects to your skin.

You believe that you are scaring John right now by grimacing so much at your own thoughts. Supple like the fucking messiah himself, that's a Strider for you.


	3. But I saved you

Chapter 3 and 4 has been combined into a longer chapter.

**Constructed: 19-06-2013**

* * *

John does at last escort you to his bedroom.

It's not exactly spacious, but not too small either. Before the sburb-session, you used to videochat with him 24/7. You don't really know the reason as to why you have stopped performing said radical and non-homo-entertwining activites. Why, of course one of the reasons _may_ have been that you have been too flustered. Or shy. Or in love. You know, the usual stuff.

That doesn't mean that John has not _tried _to offer it, but he pretty much stopped asking when you declined and came up with **poopy** excuses over and over again. Really. You recall the event whereas you declined because you had to feed your **taxerdermic crow**. He didn't talk to you for two days.

Anyhow, during the videochats, the Nicolas Cage posters were always evident on the walls. Yet this time, there is not a single trace of the actor. You glance quickly around to double-check, but allas, no Nicolas Cage is here to spot. ''Hey John,'' you murmur. He looks up from whatever he was doing at his desktop, tilting his head in curiosity. ''Where is that bunny guy,'' you grunt, waggling your eyebrows, ''Nicolas Cage,** yeah**?''

In a matter of seconds you find yourself regretting to ask such question, because John is staring at you with a stern glare boring through the material of your aviator shades. He sighs deeply and crosses the carpet, reaching a hand up to your face and pets your hair - as if regarding a clueless kid. Now, that is just A class mockery. ''He is dwelling in the _past_. Right now, Dave, it's** only** about two** best** friends reuniting.''

Now, that is just _one_ of the wonderful sides of John Egbert.

You wonder about what just happened. _  
_

Though, in the process you somehow happen realize how much you miss the clanking of his glasses and your shades. As in; awkward two-sided glasses hugs. _(it was very awkward, thank thee very much)_

But now his square framed glasses are gone. ''Where are your glasses?'' You ask. You should probably have asked earlier.

He stops petting your hair and just looks at you with this weird gleam in his eyes. ''I'm using lenses now,'' he says. ''I'm surprised you didn't notice earlier,'' he subsequently adds-

And _oh you should **so** have asked him earlier._

That is a new thing about him that you like - and somehow dislike. You miss them a bit - those ugly glasses. _Sorry, John, they really were ugly_, you excuse internally, tempted to apologize aloud. But John's front teeth are still quite bucked though. You don't want that to change. Not like you'll tell him, but still.

While he stands there in Wonderland, you happen to notice how close he is to you, despite hand not 'papping' your head anymore. You may or may not feel a pinch of embarassment due the lack of space between you. May or may not. But it is _probably_ only something_ YOU_ are imagining is occurring right now. He is _probably_ about five feet away from you, and your imagination is just vivid and horny.

Yeah. It is.

You mentally nod at your declaration.

But just as you are about to back away, your feet trips against something unexpectedly tough. Well, who the fuck has got hammers scattered on the floor in their bedrooms anyway. Oh _wait- haha_

**_- john has._**

With a high-pitched_ (manly)_ yelp you fall backwards, spending the three seconds it takes for your body to smack flat onto the ground to thank everyone in Sburb,_ even Karkat_, for this outrageous, sexually frustrating life. As much as you'd like to cling to John for your dear life, you don't really make it that far because he manages to catch you first. You think this is so cliché, and it really is. _  
_

At the current time you're clinging to him closely – as if it depends your very life. The both of you are, in your case, slanting a bit backwards, bodies pressed together. Perhaps because you're clawing his t-shirt with both of your hands like a helpless T-rex. Not to mention that your face is buried in the crook of his neck.

You cast a quick glance warily over your shoulder, realizing how the bed is right behind you. Yet another time, you fail at life. Your eyes levels at John once more when arching a bit back and away from his vice-grip. ''**I thought I was going to die**,'' you surly wheeze. You're_ totally_ **_not_** overreacting. And you're_ totally **not**_ blushing at all.

You sort of wonder what is happening to your reflexes. Everything just seems to dim down when you're in Johns presence.

His breath is caught steadily, exhaling when chuckling quietly at you. ''You were,'' He starts, and you give him the stink eye shortly, even though he's presumably uncapable of seeing it due your sunglasses. ''But I saved you.''

**Kiss me, you fool** _(in reality 'fuck me hard in the butt')_, are the words pathetically being repeaten inside your mind, but you chose not to say them aloud. You just snort casually and let go of him, stepping aside and begin to sweep your hands just above your shoulders and a tour down the front of your shirt - as if dusting off. In his place a wry smile takes shape upon his lips, and he coughs awkwardly. ''Thanks,'' you murmur, eyes flickering to the ground like it's the most interesting thing in the room. ''You're welcome,'' he answers shortly - _still smiling at you _and returns to his doings at his desktop.

For a brief second you consider telling him that he can literally save you anytime.

* * *

You're ought to be here for week.** A whole week**. You're never going to make it. Never. John is so oblivious it's crackling your skull and weakening your nerves for every time you look at him. Which has been _horribly_ often the past hour.

At the current time you're sprawled upon his bed, face sinking into the soft fabric of his duvet. He's finishing some homework in which is ought to be done for the 8th January. It's the 20th December today. You've tried to explain a detailed reason as to why he is a dweeb for making it, of all time, on a petty Thursday, considering how he just got vacation the 14th December. ''If I don't make it now I'll forget it later!'' He assures, continuing to scribble down notes in his folder. You can feel the skin around your eyes itch by the pressure of your sunglasses. You kick your feet miserably into the matress and screech into the pillow in boredom, earning you a faint chuckle from John.

''You're not thirteen anymore,'' he murmurs in a scolding tone, despite amusement lingering in the undertone.

''You're not my dad anymore,'' you sneer in return as you raise your head from the duvet and casts the man a sour glance.

You do only realize the mistake regarding your comeback when you observe how wobbly corners appears at John's mouth. John sniggers through 'sealed' lips.

''Shut up,'' is the reply in a shy mutter, dropping your head into the duvet once more. And John says that _you_ act like a thirteen year old boy. To snigger at something like that - FOOLISH FOOL.

''**COOL GUY IS LOSING IT**,'' you screech into his pillow, throwing a tantrum for no reason in particular. Luckily your pathetic whines are muffled by the pillow, yet John manages to make out words of your random babble as you hear him reply in a low voice on every comment.

You stop whining when you can't hear the noise of a scribbling pen anymore.

Once more you're almost jumping out of your skin when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up at him, shades slipping off by the brink of your nose. He looks so tall. So, so tall from this angle. You drop your head into the pillow again and sigh in defeat. Of course he doesn't understand what is nagging you. He sits down on the edge of the bed. You can feel his gaze lingering on the back of your head.

At last you turn your head to look sideways at him, ruby eyes slyly appearing underneath the shades askew. He's smilling unusually widely for someone who is tired of an eighteen year old blond throwing a tantrum on his bed. Something is wrong. His warm hands are slowly sneaking underneath the fabric of your shirt. Your eyebrows almost disappears in your hairline when you realize what he's up to. ''**No**, John,'' you warn him, taking use of a severe voice. His smug smile broadens and he lifts his eyebrows playfully, not a sound leaving his lips. ''Jo-o**hhn**,'' Your voice cracks middleway, turning octaves louder as you squeal _(manly as hell)_, for a moment considering what your tombstone will look like - the words_ 'Died having the gayest crush on his best friend'_ scribbled there.

Despite your struggle, he doesn't display any signs of stopping his current motions. Before you're capable of complaining any further, you can feel the mattress of the bed shift as he jumps and pins you to the soft fabric, withholding you by using his own weight. He straddles your lap promptly, resulting in your lungs to give in, exhaling another gruff breath by the occurring twinge along your spine.

John was the one to discover that you are ticklish and always have been.

You decide that his discovery is going to be your death.

And then, in consequence your raspy laughter reverberates in the room, mingled with breathy ''NO,'', ''JOHN,'' and ''STOP'''s. You can feel his blunt nails dig into your bare skin briefly for every time his fingers dances along your torso in exquisite manners, causing you to gasp and bite your lower lip in order to refrain from satisfying him by laughing. For a while you've kept your eyes forcefully closed behind the sunglasses, tummy cramping as you in vain attempt to swat him off with your loose, unsure hand movements. His low snickering flows inside your mind as he proceeds to make you gasp for air again, and you decide that his voice really _pleases_ you. That is not good.

With that in mind, you manage to open your eyes in a matter of seconds, chuckling still incessantly escaping your 'sealed' lips. You swallow a lump of laughter, lips parting once more. ''D-Dude,'' you groan, ''**STOP IT**.'' For what might be the fourth time, you attempt to swat him off.

This time he simply dodges your flighty hands, leaning a tad backwards – thus putting **more** pressure on your crotch. Involuntarily, this triggers something dwelling in the pit of your stomach. This is not good.

You whimper, rather say, moan in return and writhe underneath him more than you already did. This seems to put him off guard, sky blue eyes widening as you eye him frown. You do desperately take advantage of his current state. With a quite weak nudge, you manage to shove him off you.

What you don't expect to happen is your incapability to walk. You tread upon the floor rug and immediately notices how your knees wobbles and almost gives in. You stagger the few steps it takes to reach his door, hastily murmuring a '**'hafta-go-toilet-k-bye**'' before disappearing down the hallway. You don't even manage to get a view of John before leaving, almost dashing down the hall until encountering a door, in which the letters scribbled there says 'Bathroom'.

You think that you begin to hyperventilate as you quickly lock the door and almost throw yourself to the nearest bare wall, closing your eyes when sliding down the rough surface and falls onto your bum. By now it feels like someone has lit your cheeks with fire, and you cup your flustered cheeks with the both of your hands. This is bad. This is really,_ really_** bad**. You barely remember what actually happened, because all you can think of is the expression that covered Johns face when you let _that_ moan slip, not to mention_ that_ arching movement.

Somehow you suspect – No, you know you're overreacting, yet still, you cannot refrain from moulding this tight feeling to heavily occupy your chest. It's only been less than two hours since you arrived, but you've already managed to terrify your best friend in such a short amount of time. It's putting you to shame. This is so ridiculous.

'**'This is stupid**,'' you frantically whisper to yourself, suppressing the guilty feeling from welling up and take shape in your eyes. Hand clawing your t-shirt, you attempt to inhale and exhale slowly – staring straight at the ceiling, thus decreasing your flighty thoughts.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

~Puttefujs


	4. John is stupid, but so is Dave as well

**Chapter four and five has been combined into one chapter. **

**Constructed: 27-6-2013.**

Thank you for the compliments and reviews. Much appreciated. Keep the reviews coming, tell me what you like, what you don't and so on!

* * *

You're not doing anything thing but slumping there, listening to your heart's rapid pounding in your chest. All the while your eyes are bound at the ceiling in a glare that almost makes you forget what you're doing in the first place, and why. What is John going to say or do when you return? Perhaps joke – or even worse, worry.

Once more you cup the both of your cheeks, squeeze them till it hurts. You cuss sullenly under your breath when doing the motion, sorting out every possibility there is that this little accident is going to trigger something. What, you don't know.

By now you've almost slumped into a neck-wrenching position on the floor, back flat against the tiles and knees bucked, but your head tipped against the wall, thus straining your neck. Luckily you aren't on the edge of crying a river anymore, but the swelling in your heart jerkily remains obvious in your nerves.

This is the moment you notice how very tired you in reality are. The jet lag has finally reached you – even if you didn't have to fly for a challenging amount of time. Flying has never really been your thing after all, plus the thought of having to board another plane in a week sickens you already. ''This whole thing is pro'lly 'caused by jet lag anyway,'' you sigh heavily, for once letting your texan accent stream free within your voice.

Propping your torso up with the support of your elbows, you manage to raise yourself. This time you do dust yourself off - hurriedly but repeatedly sweeping your hands along your arms alternately.

With a quick glance in the mirror, you fix your tousled tufts of blond hair to something more neat and fitting. You may or may not look like you've had a fighting marathon with Bro on a Texan summer day. May or may not. You scrunch your nose up by the endless stream of memories flashing through your mind within minutes. Bro once managed to hing up your pants on the mechanical wire connected pole. That episode was goddamn awful. Though not worse than the time he demanded for you to fight in a Texan summer heat just few days after you got off the plaster from your left leg, in which was broken due... some weird shit.

You wonder if other people have their very own peculiar relatives themselves. Though not many will be capable of surpassing Bro's amount of peculiarity, sure.

Suddenly the door knob turns, but luckily you've locked the door from before, and the 'intruder' leaves it pulled down for a few couple of seconds before withdrawing. This is the third time you've almost gotten a heart attack today. You are not feeling lucky. Perhaps the weekly training with Bro has done nothing, you briefly think. Not even the fierce fights and several counts of deaths along the bumpy ride of the Sburb session. You're about to croak a brave ''Who's there?'' - or ''Occupied'', somehow hoping that it's just John´s father.

But of course it isn't.

''Dave, are you all right?'' You hear John's dapper voice through the thick material of the door. You can sense a stray of concern in his voice.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid _**_EGBERT_**.

And stupid Dave. Dave - the super hopeless moron.

You groan without even letting any kind of noise slip, resulting just a silly grimace to take place instead on your face.

''Yeah,'' you murmur,

''Can't a grown man have his potty break in peace?'' You abruptly quip subsequently, a trace of dry humour looming in the undertone.

You know everything is all right when that honest chuckle of his makes it to your ears, even if the volume is reduced by half. You can feel your shoulders tense less.

''You sure are taking your time though, mister.''

''I had to piss like a run horse, neigh, you can't blame me. Dude, I think you've got magic fingers 'cause I think you aimed for my bladder spot on – and it worked.''

Another earnest grin.

''Whatever. Just come out soon – I'll be in my room, '' he finally answers.

Soon after you can hear the soft sound of treads travelling down the hall – dwindling into complete silence. It is at that part you finally exhale, lungs giving in and a twinge of relief blossoms in your stomach.

When the hall and bathroom returns to it's quiet state from before, you carefully unlock the door and step out. Something feels weird. You don't even know why you're feeling like this - as if you have the need to be on guard, eyes constantly flickering to the left direction of the hall, then to the right. You have the vague sensation of someone watching you, prying on you with a most certainly wily atmosphere following suit.

Okay. It's probably nothing. Presumably just your super sensitive Strider senses playing dirty tricks with your sanity, you suspect. Only your mind. You rub the back of your neck tiredly, but nonetheless continues onward and toward John's room.

When you return, John is sitting on his bed, lazily resting against the wall with an iPhone finely nested between his palms as he, seemingly, is reading or watching something interesting. For some reason you are not exactly sure about what you should do of yourself, so instead of sitting down next to him, you just stand in the door frame and watch him from a distance for a while.

He pulls his knees up to his chest and sits there, using his knees as a support for his phone. You can see how he is curling his toes underneath the fabric of his woolen socks.

Despite that you could just grunt or anything alike to inform him of your current presence, you chose not to. You do, instead, come to the conclusion that you really like his sort of messy hair. How the onyx tufts occasionally sticks out in random places, plus how his bangs slightly dip a little further down the gentle slope of his nose in the middle. Just a tad, but not even enough to cover his eyes the least.

You can see he's typing now – and he's typing a lot, it seems. You're furrowing your eyebrows automatically, yet you haven't said a word yet anyway, still coolly leaning against the door frame. So, perhaps, yeah, Bro's lessons has paid off a bit.

For what seems like forever he's just got his nose buried in that phone, fingers expertly tracing along the touch screen for every word he writes.

Right until you bring a balled hand up to your lips, coughing facetiously to gain his attention. And boy, you do.

He almost drops his phone, close to throwing it away from him as if it is ferociously hot as lava. You just lift your eyebrows somehow impressed at his reaction, not even preventing the wry smile to shape upon your lips.

Those azure eyes blinks rapidly, and he almost wheezes, laughing sheepishly as he instantly 'locks' his iPhone and slips it down his pocket in his jeans.

Faster than you can think, he scurries up from his bed and dusts off his t-shirt and cardigan. You cannot help but let a shade of suspicion cross your mind. What goes for his doings on the phone, that is. Though, considering the earlier 'accident', you don't think it would be clever to snag in his stuff at the current time.

You just stand there, incapable of knowing what to do or what to say. Either does John, it seems. John claws the edge of his collar and pulls it slightly, as if sweating or anything alike.

This is getting rather weird.

All of sudden you r_eally w_ant to know whatever he was doing, because he seems to be slightly affected by it.

Your eyes flicker to his face again, and _oh. I_s that... is he blushing? Mouth slightly agape, you cannot help but to stare at him. Even through the dark material of your shades, you can see how the rosy fluster creeps along his cheeks. You also happen to notice how he is looking at everywhere but you.

Is it about that incident before? Oh man, you rather think you are the one to be ashamed.

Wait.

He was writing with someone before, right?

Or just tapping the touch screen like a maniac, well, peace with that if that is the case.

Laying that suggestion aside, you chose to play it off innocently.

''Dude,'' you start, watching how John immediately whips his glance towards you,

''Are you playing games without me?''

He grins in return, taking point of how your voice is meant as a friendly, inviting sign.

''Yeah!'' He beams, smile broad on his cheeks as he nods eagerly, and you're just dumbfounded by his reaction. He sounds like you just saved his ass big time, answers to endless myths handed on a silver platter right in front of him.

Things are supposed to be this awkward. Hey, you've just met up like three hours ago or something, so what are you to expect? Communicating and that social shit certainly won't be a dance on a meadow full of plush smuppets anyway.

Wait, what.

Just forget what you thought right there.

You've successfully managed to create an awkward atmosphere to linger between yourself and the inner me-voice, who speaks fluently for you and babble up these fanatic thoughts.

''Don't worry,'' John grins, closes in on you and pets your shoulder with his left hand, the other resting against his hip.

Can he read minds?

''I've got a PS3 downstairs for us to use - plus Wii. I am going to beat you in Mario Kart for sure,'' he states with sudden fierce enthusiasm, the awkwardness long forgotten in the background as he bravely smiles d_own _at you.

''Those thoughts will be long gone when I'm done with you,'' you snarl back in a playful matter. To believe that the both of you are above fifteen years old is still a never ending question to you.

He lifts his brows at your approval of his challenge.

''Bring it on.''

* * *

''You know how to play it, right?''

Oh - he did not just say that.

''Don't go sassy on me,'' you warn him with a wag of your eyebrows. Why would you not be able to play Mario Kart, Wii and PS3 with ease? Taking into account how you've spent hours toppling around with Bro in front of the television screen to bat down shit in Link, you think you can manage just about everything.

It was a sunny Tuesday in May that you for the first time beat Bro in Just Dance.

You feel like shedding a manly tear of pride by the memory of it.

''Dave, you drove right into the banner,'' John tells you between cheeky laughs all of sudden. You squint your eyes at the screen, realizing how you've already begun the game. You purse your lips and persistently flatten your rump onto the cushion determinedly, saying ''I wasn't ready.''

This only earns another grin from John as he adjusts his seat and stretches his legs right behind your back, claiming his corner in the other end of the couch, the tall fuck.

The fourth time you lose, you huff and cross your arms involuntarily, frown displayed on your lips as you suggest to play another game. John nudges your thigh with his feet, the wooly surface of his socks rubbing against your pants. ''Come on, Dave, just another round? I'll go easy on you this time,'' he assures, winking at you with an amused gleam in his eyes.

This makes you frown. You are so close to getting sassy with him right now, that fuckass. ''Not necessary, I'm just warming up,'' you yap nonchalantly.

You are such a sore loser, and it goddamn hurts to admit it to yourself, let alone takes all your joyful spirit.

At last he gives in, on his knees in front of the television to launch another game for you to play. When he sits down again, you cannot help but to notice how his feet stays finely resting in your lap, which is an unecessary move of him, thank you very much.

This is a game you know you're good at, but your concentration is for every minute fading into nothingness due your thoughts are completely cornering something else than the violent entertainment flashing on the huge screen. You flinch whenever his toes curl or twitch, swallowing another lump of insecurity whilst your eyes persistently lingers on the screen.

Especially when he adjusts the position of his feet with a ruthless wriggle, your _immense _focus is sent with the speed of light scurrying into a sidetrack. You bite your lower lip, chewing gently to prevent yourself from doing whatever you are not supposed to do or think – not to mention feel.

''I gotta go take a piss,'' you announce loudly, index finger pushing the pause button on the console instantly. He barely looks at you, unpausing the game quickly to continue – and woah, what a dick move. ''Sure, again?'' he murmurs, eyes intently occupied by the noisy game. He just topped the A-hole scale in less than three seconds, and you are barely refraining from clapping your hands to state it to the rest of the joyful world.

You raise yourself and make your way around the small table neatly placed in front of the couch and then proceed to walk a _l__ittle_slower when walking past the television. You can see John grimace at your doings, craning his neck to get a better view of the television.

And then you walk a little, _little_ bit more slower, not even having gotten past the PS3 yet. In fact, you are not even moving at all. _That'll show him_, the inner me-voice cackles inside your head as a smug grin shapes upon your lips.

''Hey, Dave,'' he complains, but you just shrug it off.

''You know, I just feel like stretching my limbs _right__here_,'' you explain, speaking slower than necessary. ''My hands kind of hurts after playing _so _much,'' the explanation continues, putting extra emphasis on your words. You stretch your arms above your head and strut with your bum, smile wide when he scrunch his nose up and almost falls onto his side when adjusting his seat.

''You're such an ass, you know,'' John chuckles, yet the annoyance is looming somewhere in said words. And oh, how you love it.

''I don't know what you're talking about,'' you respond, purposefully leaning a little bit more to the left to block his view again. You stretch your body in ways you didn't even know you could, leg fabulously sliding backwards as you almost slip into the 'marry-me' position, despite that your hands are resting on your head. Your torso is bent a little to the right so that you still can manage to look at him. _**Simply fabulous**_.

This time John does in honesty chuckle, pausing the game and propping himself up to sit with his back a little slumped, left elbow on the beginning of his knee as he supports his head against his palm. ''Being a sore loser fits you vehemently well, acually'' he finally says, shaking his head a bit to display his 'distress'.

Such words.

Hey, hold on-

''No, you're a bad winner'' you wince, straightening yourself to defend your pride. The only answer you get is the look on John's face, literally saying '_can-u-not'._ As persistent and hopeless you are, you do the '_watching-u' _gesture with your hand and whisper in a hiss _''this isn't over''_before leaving, quickly striding up the stairs.

The moment you're out of sight and upstairs, you grunt to yourself and pinch your nose. Stubborn little shit, that you are. You wander down the hallway until you meet the familiar door of the bathroom, recalling how you before were staggering through it to weep in a foetal position on the tiles. You quickly make up memories here to return for life.

But you were honest when saying that you had to take a piss. When you had that mental break back then, you did anything but take use of the toilet. You are quick to lock the door and pull your pants down.

_Such a wonderful world_, you think. When you're done, you pull up your pants again and wash your hands, at last stands there for a minute or two, glancing at your own mirror reflection. You flatten a few couple of blonde strands randomly sticking out, though the messiness has always been a charm to pep up your appearance.

You make your way out again, only to stop after taking the first step out. There is is - that feeling again. The feeling of being watched. But Jose is gone shopping groceries now, considering how he quickly went past John and you to inform you when you were playing. It can't be him – and John is currently occupied by the television downstairs.

You've felt like this before. You have astounding reasons to know the feeling, of course – Bro lurking somewhere, ready to pounce you and throw a katana at you – in seek of fun, as he calls it, _haa_. There are also the booty traps with the smuppets.

Sometimes it sounds like you're being abused at home. It makes you laugh to yourself.

But this is, most definitely, different. You let your eyes flicker to each corner of the hallway, but nonetheless, there is nothing to see. Only the average furniture and that weird yellow statue of a kind who blows blue bubbles. Nothing.

Wait a minute.

You turn around so fast that you're almost stumbling over your own feet.

Your breath hitches as you continue to stare, body rigid when observing the yellow rat thing. For a second you swore that you saw it moving, even twitch or blink. It's expression is literally alarming off_ '__you-came-to-the-wrong-neighborhood-nigga'_, staring back with those orange, glistening eyes.

Does statues have twinkling eyes? This must be some real quality shit, you ponder.

You furrow your brows and shrug it off. If they want to have some sort of yellow lizard to adore the room, then let peace be with that.

You're about to turn around again when the little lizard croaks at you, resulting for you to almost jump out of your skin in surprise.

''Holy shiiiii-'' you yelp, hand clawing the fabric of your shirt as you manage to catch your breath – or at least try.

''_Dave_, what are you doing?''

Great, fifth heart attack today.

Presumably you have been gone for more than five minutes, which must have made John worried, considering how he has chosen to go upstairs to look after you.

The answer from you is delayed, only a strained grunt. You put your hands in the air and flail dismissively to shut his mouth, then point urgently at the lizard, demanding an explanation to why there IS A YELLOW BUBBLE BLOWING LIZARD IN THE HOUSE.

The worst is that it reminds you of those other lizards in Sburb you had to encounter. You are going to rip your hair out of your scalp if this lizard also says 'nak'.


	5. Desperate methods

**Chapter five and six has been combined into one chapter. **

**Constructed: 27-06-2013.**

Peculiarity is what this chapter contains, I might add.

Changed angle of view.

* * *

Dave is thoroughly mind blown by the peculiar event currently occurring, fingers once more entangled in the wrinkled curves of the fabric belonging to his adored red and white shirt. He had, before, begrudgingly batted his hands at that yellow lizard, demanding an explanation instantly from John, who seemed to be illegally amused, according to Dave.

''It is just Casey!'' He responds promptly, a wry smile lingering to his lips as he speaks. Dave shoots him a glare from behind his shades, definitely bemused by John's very simple explanation. ''Dude, I thought ya' said ya' didn't bring anything related to Sburb home,'' Dave says, putting extra emphasis on the part where the blue eyed boy had fucking pinky sworn not to do so. John simply batters his eyes in puerile manners, lifting his hands in mock innocence, much to Dave's dismay. ''But Casey is different! She's my pet lizard. I couldn't just leave her there,'' John explained, the willing urge to convince Dave obvious in his words.

Dave furrows his brows at his answer, for a moment scrutinising it with his arms firmly crossed along his chest. In the end he just sighs, shrugging heavily as approval. ''Fine. But ya' better keep her away from where I am to dump my shit tonight, are we clear?'' Dave groans, jamming a finger towards John to assure his attention is turned to him, and not the little bubble blowing creature.

* * *

At last they get downstairs again. Casey is still upstairs, waddling around as she pleases. John had pried Dave to at least try to pet her, but Dave simply refused upon this request, already tucking his tail between his legs. Pun intended. Casey seems to like Dave though – even a lot, John would say. It didn't change Dave's point as view despite Casey and Johns pleading eyes, and at last they went downstairs after John was done petting and hugging the dear life out of her.

Dave's mind seems to be somewhere else as he looks across the living room, eyes searching for something. ''Hey, I'm starving – could we eat some cake or something? I go by the belief that your dad is holding a freaking banquet in the kitchen. I shouldn't wonder if Jesus Christ and his disciple showed up, throwing off a party in the name of god,'' he says, shooting John a wily tug of his lips. But little does Dave know, John being far off this planet, fingers expertly tapping against the video game console as he with immense concentration attempts to conquer the final boss in the game he's playing.

Dave keeps babbling nonsense in a pace that leaves John absently almost turning his side to him, attention lingering to the screen, not to mention the buttons, which are repeatedly pressed ruthlessly in pure stubbornness. ''Dav-_** DANGIT**_,'' He suddenly yells, resulting for Dave to almost slide off the cushion of the couch in surprise. Dave can remark how John is furiously biting his lower lip, brows furrowed in what seems to be anger or desperation. ''Dude,_ holla up there_,'' Dave wheezes, moving himself a tad to the left and further away from the furious teenager. In dave's point of view this seems to be too good to be true, John being worked up by a simple game.

And then he remembers what a sore loser he is claimed to be himself.

Shit.

Smile slowly fading, he adjusts his seat and watches John restart the game. He cannot help but to notice how much it pleases him to see John literally sputtering of anger, a noise reminding of a bestial groan nurtured in John's chest erupts from his mouth. Dave's ruby eyes flickers automatically to John's slightly chapped lips, glance settling there to rest for a second or two, pondering how it would feel to have his own lips pressed against those.

_'You're so fucked up',_ Dave mouths to himself and forcefully closes his eyes to abandon those sly thoughts and ideas appearing in his head. He looks up again when John mumbles something between low hisses. He can see how he is clenching his jaw in restrainment, and it occurs to be amusing to Dave.

Distracted by another persistent rumble in his stomach, Dave decides that whether John likes it or not, he wants food. Now.

The hisses John growls out continues incessantly, and Dave is not exactly sure he'll even dare to as much as poke that bestial and obviously infuriated teenager. It'll be like poking a feral beast in a cage, Dave figures as much.

Scooting a tad closer to John, he leans against the boy´s side and nudges him softly, shoulder against shoulder. ''Hey, John,'' he almost whispers, so guarded his words are. John's answer is uttermost delayed, only grunts a small snort as a decent reply. Is Dave fucking supposed to fart on his face to reconnect that poor boy to planet earth or what - just to deliver a simple message?

''Hey, dude,'' he whispers again, puckering his lips and wagging his eyebrows, despite John not seeing it. ''I saw what you're hiding underneath your bed,'' he implies, randomly composing stupid quirks to at least receive a reaction from the absent boy. John barely moves, mouth twitching in a wry smile when he answers with a ''haven't got anything underneath my bed, Dave.''

Expect fucking hammers or something.

_Well, at least his mind is partly still here_, Dave consoles himself.

''Pay attention to me,'' Dave now whines, leaning in closer to him, still nudging his shoulder against John's persistently. John straightens his back, leaving Dave incapable of making earlier move again.

''If you don't pay attention to me** I _swear_** I am going to kidnap Casey and sell her to bro,'' Dave huskily threatens. Yet still, this time John doesn't even react to his words. He just cusses in a low voice and once more restarts the game. Dave is left gawking at him like the idiot he is.

This time Dave is to take use of rather drastic methods, he suspects. Scooting closer than he already is, he invades John's personal space bit by bit. No fucking regrets, because this is war. ''John, get your ass moving or I am going to molest your lap like you've never experienced before,'' he hisses, eyes fixated at John's jaw and cheek whilst gritting his teeth. Seeing John moving his arm slightly, Dave thinks he has finally seen the light and purpose in life.

Only to be swatted away by a loose palm as John mushes it against his cheek, passively saying; ''sure, do that. Just one more game, I promise.''

Supporting his hands against the plush of the cushions, Dave raises himself to tuck his feet up above the edge of the couch and underneath himself, thus wriggling a bit further away. If he is going to pounce John like a feral lion, then so be it.

Arching a bit backwards, he props himself up on all four, leaning a bit backwards. His heels are digging into the soft fabric of the couch.

Without a warning, he leaps off the beginning of the armrest. In a matter of seconds John finds the wind in his lungs being knocked out by a furious Strider, who happens to lurch with all his might against him. He faces the pillows with a strained huff, partly laying on his back, but with his legs hanging down from the edge.

Dave wastes no time, leaning forwards in a fast pace. He doesn't even know what he's doing in particular, but the first thing he can feel is John's warm throat against his face. His arms are clasped around John, now pinning him to the cushions. He does the first thing that comes to his mind, which unfortunately contains teeth.

His pearl whites sinks into the skin of John's neck and throat briefly. Dave can smell an exotic aroma linger in his nostrils momentarily - and accidentally inhales the scent sharply, exhaling a heavy breath, which seems to have been captured in his chest for what seems to be forever. Realizing John is using the perfume he bought as a friendly reminder gift, he cannot help but to feel a bit taken aback. He can feel John tense underneath him, presumably in surprise and something else, releasing a strained noise.

_What the hell am I doing. _

In less than seconds he manages to withdraw himself from the other boy, sitting up again with his legs tucked underneath his rump. He wipes away the small amount of his own saliva damp on his lips, watching John intently – awating a reaction. In the meantime he feels like he's sweating bullets. Suddenly, pouncing John does not seem like having been the best idea to openly perform, after all.

Shortly after, John props himself up, bewilderment obvious in his azure orbs. ''Dave, ow,'' he whines, squinting his eyes, ''that really hurt!''

With that said, Dave knows no harm has occurred (_nearly fist pumping the air in relief_) . Despite that John now has achieved a red bite mark on his throat, that is – slight red patches appearing on his skin. ''I warned you, man.'' John is rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand, moaning in pitiful agony, resulting for Dave to swat his leg. ''I was so close to winning,'' John pouts as he sits up again and straightens his back. He stares accusingly at Dave.

Dave shrugs innocently in an even more questioning gesture, as if not knowing what just happened either.

* * *

The bite must've awoken something dwelling inside John, at least made him aware of his surroundings, not to mention the furious blond, almost white haired guy sitting next to him. In this case, in front of him, considering how his seat has abruptly been redirected by the Strider himself in a mentioned commotion.

Dave is glaring at John expectantly, as if awaiting for the boy to lift a hand and sparkling food will descend from the air and finely be placed atop the table beside the couch. But nothing happens, and they just sit there like the stupid teenagers they are, whilst John continues to mourn lowly what goes for the bite mark close to his throat. On the inside, Dave is just crying himself into a feral position, in his mind, that is – babbling about how wrong it is that he has in mind to pounce the poor man once more, perhaps even take advantage of his persistent ignorance.

They are both being startled by the reverberating bang of the front door being closed, Jose appearing in the hallway. Breath tightly captured in their chests, they observe the peaceful man shuffle his shoes off, nod firmly to them and thus disappear into the kitchen with the grocery bags in his hands. John withdraws his hand from his throat, letting it slide down along his side and rest there.

Dave is, of course, the first one to speak. While John had just watched the grocery bags glorious presence with nothing particular in his mind, Dave had been more than tempted to just leap off the couch and pounce the bags instead. He is distracted by yet another growl emerging from his stomach, leaving him embracing his stomach with the both of his hands, shooshing softly. He glances reproachfully at John, giving him the vague idea of how hungry he in reality is. In reality just giving the _bitch-i-tell-u-wat _attitude, pursing his lips because John can't see his eyes.

''I want food,'' he states, even quite loudly to put extra emphasis on his words. John doesn't furrow his brows or laugh at him, but finally manages to raise himself, nodding promptly in case Dave would gain other, spectacular idea for achieving his attention. Dave is almost tempted to smile widely, but he quickly restrains himself.

As they walk the small path it takes to encounter the kitchen, John slows down to walk beside Dave, accidentally reeling a little to the right, jabbing his elbow into Dave's ribcage as payback for the bite. What he doesn't expect to happen, is Dave to wriggle his ankle in the process of surprise, sending him dropping to the ground with a pained huff. And oh, perhaps forgot to mention the part where Dave manages to grab John's wrist, thus making him follow suit.

John is about to land atop of Dave, who has fallen onto his back, but manages to prop a hand in the way and roll to the side, saving Dave from being crushed underneath the bundle of muscles. Dave is wheezing by now, hunching his shoulder up as if trying to cover his throat and neck. ''YOU COULD'VE KILLED ME,'' he quips and are quick to whap John on the nose with the back of his hand. In the end, John remains as the bitten loser - and is a fool at achieving sweet revenge.

Also, Dave never overreact. In fact, he can barely understand why it feels like his cheeks are a little bit warmer than before. Because when you've just turned eighteen, everything is embarrassing, even if you bite your crush and they jab back.

John covers his nose with his fingers and moans in agony, bitterly returning to the point of complaining. ''Don't give me that tone,'' Dave sighs, ''you were the one who ignored my hunger in the first place,'' he points out, at the current time making his way onto his legs again. He offers John his hand to help him up, watching how John peeks up at him through a little crack between the gap of his fingers. John grabs his hand and Dave helps his up, visibly pouting as they make their way to the kitchen.

Jose offers the both of them some cake, plus a sandwich to eat - and he's more than happy to oblige and make it for them, much to Dave's surprise. John doesn't seem surprised, rather turning out to look as if being in obscure dismay as Jose offers to make it for them. John kind of gratefully thanks him in the end though, earning a stubble kiss from him, resulting for John to hiss something about being seventeen and oh, such embarrassing behavior, whereas Dave carries a fond smile to perch upon his lips. John happens to notice in secretive, but doesn't comment on it, because he knows the gesture will quickly disappear if pointed out.

* * *

The two teenagers assemble in the living room again a littler further ahead where the dinner table stands, sitting down in front of each other. A sudden thought strikes Dave's creative mind, and he jabs a finger at John all of sudden.

''Okay, it's on time I ask this life-depending, not to mention strongly required question to you,'' he yaps, tilting his head to the left, awaiting for the boy's full attention to be directed towards him. John glares skeptically in return, mildly bewildered what goes for the else then cussing teenager's now well formulated language. ''Uh, yeah?'' John asks, warily craning his head forward a bit in a gesture to show the visibility of his captured attention.

Dave is almost sitting on the edge of his stool now, leaning in closer and lounging across the table. ''Did'ya gain some sorta fierce hobby to ravage lately, caus' I sense that ya've gotten quite _the _shape,'' he casually snorts, close to whispering, in the result letting his Texan accent slip. He then slumps backwards again, lifting his chin nonchalantly. The question has to be launched into action sometime throughout this little vacation, and now is just the right time. Somewhere in his wily mind, he suspects the boy for taking use of mild steroids or something akin – just in case. It's not like John is ominously bulky, no, hell no, but he's got that..._That _look. Strong biceps – also legs, Dave can remark, and he can even just sense the outline of what might be toned abs through John's somewhat _thick_ t-shirt between the unbuttoned cardigan.

Just

_What._

John basically looks like someone who has stepped out of a wet dream, Dave figures inside his mind.

For a moment the blond haired boy wonders what it would be like to have sex on the table right now.

_'Focus, Dave, you're a man on a mission,'' _he mouths to himself before levelling his attention to John once more. John is smiling at him, and what seems to be a slight shade of red roams his cheeks mildly. He clasps his hands together and squirms lightly, adjusting his seat. ''Well, I've recently begun on the football team...,'' he murmurs, eyes flickering to the surface of the table. '' - And it's going well, that much I can say.''

''Besides, right after the Sburb session, I began to visit the fitness center often – more than usually _(he had, in fact, never even treaded upon the sweat stenched rugs before until then), _and I still have a tendency to... play in the backyard with the pogohammers from the past, you know,'' John explains, flashing a smile once in a while. That does at least explain the goddamn pogohammers laying everywhere.

He also tells about how his daily life roams ahead, so many new things he's explored and approached. But of course, it will never be like Sburb. Like being the Heir of Breath. Like surrounding the twelve aliens-of-a-kind representing the zodiac signs. Like to travel through dimensions after dimensions in less than seconds.

Dave can nothing but to agree to everything he explains, because he has felt the same. He feels and thinks the same. Being back and mingling with the rest of the humanity is nothing alike what they've seen and what they've done. And it's weird. It's really weird, because they both know that they miss it. It's surreal.

John slowly trails off, hand caressing the nape of his neck casually, unsure of how to actually serve his whole reaction to the hey-we're-back-to-being-just-humans-again thing. Dave chuckles softly, chin resting against the palm of his hand as he supports his head with his arm propped onto the counter.

''I feel impotent, somehow,'' John says, barely a whisper. He whips his glance up again when he remarks Dave snorting.

''You're not,'' Dave quickly mutters. ''You're more than that. So much more than what you think.''

He smiles at John with that lopsided, sly grin of his, because Dave just can't smile if it's not askew, a hint of smugness hiding somewhere whenever he does. According to John, Dave has got very nice teeth, and a very nice smile, though not many carries the luck to witness and know it. But John does, and that is what matters to him right now. Dave dares to be himself when being in John's presence, and he's always there to support him. That is mostly what makes John feel important all of sudden.

''Thanks,'' John promptly beams at him

''Don't mention it,'' he huff, attitude hastily returning to pull the strings again. He leans back and crosses his arms, somehow nonchalantly averting eye contact with the boy sitting on the opposite stool. He's not used to showing affection like this for anyone, even though he's been through a lot. Even if Bro is back. Even if this, even if that. He hasn't arrived here to get his heart broken by his best friend, who may end up rejecting him in the first place.


	6. Men without shirts

**Chapter six and seven has been combined into one chapter.**

**Constructed: 27-06-2013.**

_**(Warning: Frottage, dry humping and mentioning of masturbation)**_

Love your reviews. So heart warming.

Thank you guys so much for the great support!

Enjoy!

* * *

Dave doesn't know how he ended up in such a peculiar, nerve wrecking situation like this. He really doesn't, and for a moment he ponders what he could've done to prevent this from happening. He truly does.

''John,'' he asks.

John doesn't reply, but continues to wander around in the room, to the corner to get a pillow resting in his chair, back again to promptly place it onto the bed against the wall and fluff it up big time. Like it mattered and would benefit Dave gold and green forests.

''John,'' he tries, finding himself being quite forlorn as minutes passes by, yet no response emerges from the raven haired boy. At last John whips around on the ball of his heels, glaring straight back at Dave with a questioning look painted in his blue, blue eyes. Dave sort of sighs, palm of his hand nuzzling the soft tufts of hair trailing down the nape of his neck. ''S'not a problem for me to sleep on the couch downstairs,'' suggests he, eyes following how John furrows his brows.

''No way!'' John snarls, throwing a fit with his arms to point out his reluctant dismay. ''If we can't even share a bed for some few couple of nights, then what can we manage?'' The question blurts out, leaving Dave staring blankly at John. Maybe John is right, isn't he? There's nothing wrong with sharing the same bed as your best friend. Hell, Dave has fought against red alligators, mutant wolves among zodiac aliens, plus much more. How could he not overcome this sort of disturbance?

Well, there would be no problem if just Dave had refrained from developing a fierce crush on the dweeb throughout the past years.

With a lift of his shoulders, he shrugs nonchalantly and shoots John a lopsided grin. ''We'll see if we can manage then,'' he proposes, therefore accepting this challenge, or whatever he will prefer to specify this suggestion of his friend as.

''But I stir in sleep,'' Dave warns, vague concern in his words.

''So do I.''

''Like, a lot. It's like I've been settled in the bug-mania-ville while asleep.''

''I don't care.''

''I snore.''

''You do?''

''No, are you out of your mind,''

''You just said you do''

''You better believe it.''

''You're confusing.''

''You're stupid.''

''I'm not!''

''You so are.''

''Dave!''

Dave achieves a well-deserved whap on his shoulder blade by the back of John's hand, resulting in him to scrunch his nose up and wince slightly in a mock-reaction. ''Don't hit me,'' Dave yaps, ''my skin is sensitive.'' He attempts to play if off expertly with a stoic reaction, but a smile manages to carry the lead and perch upon his lips. He lifts his arm and rests the back of his hand against his slightly warm forehead, swooning and arching his back with a light groan. ''But you know I'm such a masochist for you,'' he says in a monotone voice. John huffs, muttering quiet words Dave can't hear, aware of the slightly visible flusterment prickling his cheeks. Dave doesn't as much as notice.

Eyes flickering to the ceiling as if it is the most interesting thing in his room, John asks if Dave wants to see a movie with him. They are far from about to drift off asleep, and the darkness has yet to settle. Outside the transparent panes of the windows, the sun is quick to abscond behind the gloomy clouds, leaving the last rays of sunshine to reflect in the clear snow dazzling the ground.

''Sure,'' Dave answers, leaning a tad forward when jamming a thumb directed against himself, ''but I get to chose the movie, considering how you did that the last time we had a movie night. You've promised that I am the one to chose now, and it is going to be so ironic, fucking angels will descend from the sky just to praise my wise choices.''

John gawks visibly at his response, highly offended, Dave presumes. But chosing movies with a certain Egbert is not just any kind of fucking children's game, not to mention a game at all. John's jaw is clenching, swallowing heavily as he crosses his arms. ''You can't do this to me, Dave.'' He simply answers, as if that is the most proper answer for a conclusion like that.

''Ohohoh, yes I can,'' grins Dave in a devilish smile, baring his teeth for a brief second in a chuckle that lasts a small amount of seconds. ''But movies are my thing,'' John whines, looking close to draping the floor in a prayer on his knees to prove Dave his attribute true.

''Don't care,'' Dave snorts and flicks his wrist, giving John the 'talk-to-the-hand' motion like the mature and responsible fair adult he is. Feet encouragingly moving forward, he attempts to leave the room in order to get downstairs for his astonishingly of no or little importance movie chosing, but is only to be stopped as John stomps in front of him. All of sudden John's chest seems a little too broad and muscular for his taste, it seems. ''Please?'', John requests, eyes wide as he purposely pouts in those manners that makes an arrow strike through Dave's heart. Not his knee. No skyrim memes allowed here. Skyrim meme free zone, pls.

Dave grunts in reply and hurriedly takes a step to the right, whereas John follows suit. Then the left. John steps to the left as well. Right. Left. Left. Right. ''JUST-'' the blonde wheezes, flailing with his arms. He cannot bring himself to push John or any actions alike.

''I am going to bite you again.''

''See if I care.''

''This time I will draw blood – your blood.''

''You wouldn't dare.''

''Watch me.''

Another grunt.

''I am.''

Dave grimaces.

''_Well-see-again-you-tall-fuck_.''

Several steps repeatedly to the left and right later, the question is again:

''Can I please?'' Dave is the one to plead this time.

''No.''

''I am going to _hit_ you...''

''Then do it.''

''Right now.''

''What are you waiting for?''

''Your approval.''

''Do you need it to hit me?''

John earns a loose swat at his elbow.

''Not for hitting you,'' Dave hisses persistently, treading a tad forward.

John flinches in response, but nonetheless he continues to stand there.

Dave would even go as far as naming John's current glare and position quite intimidating.

''I want to chose,'' John continues to ramble.

''I'm not even sorry to disappoint you, but it's my turn.''

''Ghost Busters?''

''No way.''

''You suck''

''Shall I demonstrate it on you?''

A sly smile happens to shape in Dave's place as he watches John choke a mix between a gasp and a laugh in surprise. Without putting disturbance in the non-homosexual-john-universe, the blond leans forward, ruby eyes glaring up at the taller from behind the huge aviator shades. A pale hand snakes down John's side, making John jump a feet in the air when Dave gently, but suddenly yanks down in the denim rim of the teenager's pants. It's not too much, not to mention a forceful action at all, but just enough to put John off guard.

A quick haul with his feet is enough to let himself run past the 'absent' teenager, Dave now scurrying past him, through the door frame and down the hallway until encountering the stairs. He can hear his temples throbbing by the sudden rush of adrenaline gushing throughout his veins, reverberating in his mind and nearly surpassing the noise of hurried footsteps close behind him. _Shit, shit, _are the only words mindlessly being repeated inside his mind, feet tapping strenuously against the surface of the stairs as he runs downstairs, close to loosing his footing on the way. Of all imaginable persons, he choses to challenge a _football player_ to a _whops-you-snooze-you-lose _dare. But hey, Dave is not exactly untrained either, so he just clings to the lessons he has learned through Sburb and countless of fights with Bro.

Close to the peak of downstairs, Dave traps his fingers against the handrail and tugs it tightly, heels digging into the wooden surface of the ground as he leaps and gracefully swings his feet over it, landing on the other side without a word emitting from his mouth. Subsequently he continues his raid, running to the sofa, nearly toppling over it when repeating earlier motion. Treading upon the table, the teenager lungs forward and jumps off it as quick as he came, wordlessly and in triumph managing to make his way to the section of movies sorted on a shelf next to the huge television. He can hear John hissing from the stairs, taking a peek over his right shoulder to find John rounding the end of the handrail.

Before John can argue when closing in on Dave, he jams a finger into the thin air, as if in a mighty need to state something of high importance. ''You snooze, you lose,'' Dave snaps at him, wagging his finger whilst shooting him a disappointed look, pursing his lips. At this, John throws his hands into the air, clearly showing his distress with what reminds of a bestial growl erupting from him. The blonde just grins in return, amused by the whole situation.

''I can already tell that movie sucks'' John broods, arms crossed when slumping further into the cushions of the sofa. ''Look from the bright side: at least Bro isn't here to make the final choice. Last time I was with him, we saw My Little Pony: friendship is magic,'' consoles Dave with a hum, tapping the 'ok' button on the remote to await the menu of the movie appearing on the flat screen TV. ''I fell asleep during the first ten minutes,'' he l_ies_, because he totally _can't __r_emember how he completely engrossed had watched every bit of the series, hooting for Rainbow Dash with Bro once in a while. But Apple Jack is the coolest, because she cultivates apples. Apple is good. Apples are very good, especially when they're converted into apple juice.

Dave is more or less captured by his own thoughts, absently glaring at the menu until John forces him to reconnect to planet earth. ''Mmm, yeah?'' He murmurs. ''What is Teen Wolf?'' asks John. Dave can already tell how the blue eyed's attention is already partly being grasped by the astounding cover picture of an, indeed, good looking male teenager prowling forward, shirt shredded and covered in blood stains. The tanned teenager has golden eyes to flare up just as an extra plus, danger looming in his look and his hair is tousled and dark. Dave smirks on his own, eyes flickering to John once more. ''As the title says, it's about a teenager who turns into a werewolf among others,'' Dave explains, smugness obvious in his words because he knows that John is partly interested.

''Besides, it's not a movie. It's a serie,'' Dave sooner adds as the intro emerges on the screen. Dave switches off the light with the guide of John, then proceeds to sit down next to him.

In the end, they didn't chose a movie from the selection on the shelfs. While Dave had scrutinised Netflix for several of movies and series to chose among, John had shuffled to the kitchen in order to get them some snacks, also returning to his room just for adding his duvet. You know, in case they are to see a horror movie and needs a place to hide. J_ust kidding, of course_. The only reason is because they are growing adults who needs warmth, _mind you_.

They sit next to each other, eyes lingering on the screen as they both watch the serie with engrossed interest. John is munching on some sort of yankie bar, whilst Dave is eating popcorn, accidentally swallowing a whole mouthful just when a quick, terrifying glimpse of a dead body emerges. He nearly chokes, eyes watering slightly because _goddamn_, popcorn can be sharp edged. Feeling like his throat has been violated, he lays off the popcorn for a while.

Through the darkness, Dave can just manage to see the outline of John's silhouette, plus a bit of light reflecting in his eyes. It's even harder to see when wearing shades, and perhaps he wonders if he should just lay them aside for a second or two. He grips the rim of both sides, slowly lifting them as he places them on a free spot onto the table in front of them. John doesn't happen to notice, and somehow Dave is happy for that. His sensitive eyes sting a bit from the sharp graphics bellowing from the bright television.

John gawks audibly, mouth agape as he watches one of the main character's impacts as a newly turned werewolf kick in. They are playing a game named Lacrosse, which plays an influential part of the school the characters attends on daily basis. Dave chuckles softly upon John's reaction, slyly glancing towards the other teenager, only to find him staring right back. Seemingly, John's attention is draped towards Dave at the current time, asking ''woah, where are your shades?'' instead of regarding the serie.

Dave huffs lowly, murmuring what he believes is a decent answer and throws a handful of popcorn at John. ''Do you really think I'd sit in the darkness and watch movies while still wearing my shades?'' He deadpans, lips thinned into a straight line. John sweeps his hands just above his arms and a tour down the front of his chest, sweeping off the thrown popcorn. ''How am I supposed to know? You always wear those dumb shades,'' he snarls right back, yet with a smirk hiding somewhere under the layers of slight annoyance and curiosity. ''It's because you gave them to me,'' responds Dave, awfully stoic as he pulls the duvet they share closer to himself, wrapping himself partly in it.

John can not help but to feel slightly thankful, not to mention flustered. Admittedly, he likes that Dave persistently wears them. Besides, Dave had mentioned something about his eyes being awfully sensitive, plus that he really needed some new sunglasses back then. John scrunches his nose up. Yes, Dave really needed a new pair of shades that time, considering how he was flaunting around wearing triangular anime shades, matching his brother's own pair.

The both of them converse throughout the rest of the Teen Wolf episode, partly watching, but keeping up the occurring comments and small conversations. It's nice, to say the least. Very neat, even. By the time they have made it to the fifth episode, Dave simply can't hold it back anymore.

''I think I might have the hots for Derek,'' Dave mutters in a restrained, gruff voice. John's attention immediately whips to Dave, and Dave can tell by looking from the corner of his eyes how John continues to watch him expectantly. At last, he looks back at him, even through the darkness skimming among them and blocking most of their views. ''What,'' he asks, tilting his head. John bares his teeth in a small smile, lifting his eyebrows repeatedly. ''Well, isn't he a hot piece of meat,'' John snorts. He actually snorts.

Wow. Such astounding progress.

''So you're in for him, too?'' Dave prompts.

''I never said I was.''

''But you are, right?''

''How can you like him?''

''Have you even looked underneath that awfully covering shirt,'' Dave sputters, motioning his right hand towards the screen.

''I think we've gotten a great view, that much I can say.''

''Then what's your problem?''

''He's a _sourwolf- _that's the problem.''

''You can be the fucking Doppelganger of him sometimes.''

''Rude,'' snarls John, sticking his tongue out at Dave, who is very tempted to just to snip it with two fingers.

''What about Stiles then – or Scott?''

''They're pretty funny,'' John even cracks a grin.

''Well, they wouldn't make it far round' my apartment before I'd drag them in for a bottle of apple juice,'' Dave wily jokes.

''I don't even know how to respond to that,'' John laughs.

Dave hopes John doesn't think he's weird for crushing on a fictional character - even a_ male_, now that he's at it.

The blonde is distracted from his thoughts by the raven haired boy himself, John blurting out with a: ''The Jackson guy is pretty hot, too.'' For a moment Dave just sits there and stares at the screen with squinted eyes. So, okay. How is he to respond to that, other than completely agreeing. Jackson almost have blue eyes as well. Dave really likes blue eyes. A lot.

''Yeah, he is.''

''But he's a jock.''

John is sent a_can-u-not glance __f_rom a certain Strider.

''You're a jock too, aren't ya?''

A choking noise erupts from John.

''I just play track and field, plus football, that doesn't mean I'm a jock!''

''Aren't ya' a pretty social butterfly then?''

Delayed answer.

''Well, I guess I'm not the most unperceived person.''

''Pretty, little social butterfly. I'm so proud of you,'' Dave swoons, faking a sniff.

''You'll still remain an asshole till the day you die, won't you?''

''Too bad I'll never die.''

John turns his torso slightly towards Dave now.

''You're not immortal,'' John says, smirking whilst doing so.

''Please, I'm the knight of time,'' Dave huffs, as if offended.

''You would be – if we were still in Sburb.''

''Perhaps we are still in Sburb without knowing it?''

''That's stupid. You're stupid,'' he retorts with a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

''You don't believe?''

''A lot of stuff has happened... But that is the past. It doesn't exist anymore – s'not in the reach of our hands,'' explains John, slumping backwards as he yawns until a popping noise emerges from his jaw.

''If you were in the Peter Pan movies he would've so been dead right now. This kills the man,'' Dave grunts, lifting an eyebrow.

''Shut up,'' John chuckles.

* * *

Countless minutes later, they have endured and survived four and a half more episodes of Teen Wolf. The clock attached to the wall high above the television ticks eagerly in the now comprehensive silence occurring in the room. A soft noise of shallow breathing is the only other noise mingling with the lulling ticks, omitting from a certain blond, whose head is slumped against the armrest of the couch. The boy is almost reeling off the edge of the cushions, laying on his back as his legs are stretched out along the couch and onto John's lap. In the other end, John has paused the current episode due the sudden urge to just close his eyes and drift off. He was very close to falling asleep just a few minutes ago, and he figures it is time for the both of them to go to bed now.

At first he simply attempts to nudge Dave awake with a balled fist, knuckles gently pressing against the boy's slacken shoulder in a far lean to the right. But the boy doesn't wake up, releases a grunt in response and a hand lifted in a rejecting manner to swat John's hand away. John sighs heavily at this, but decides that he can't help it. Nobody wants to deal with a sour Strider, that is. He leans himself slowly a tad forward, watching Dave's legs slide off his lap and onto the floor, almost resulting in him to fall off the couch.

John clings his arm around and underneath the middle of Dave's back and subsequently the bend of his knees. ''One, two.. thhhh-reeee,'' John huff, the balls of his feet digging into the soft rug as he lifts the boy above the couch and into his embrace. Thereafter he manages to raise himself from the tempting cushions, savoring, not to mention mentally _archiving _this moment of holding Dave in bridal style. If just Dave knew and wasn't absent at the moment, he would've certainly slit John's throat without any hint of hesitation. Being in this kind of position will _hurt _Dave's pride for sure. John chuckles lowly at the thought.

Dave is quite heavy, John learns throughout the bridal-style carry up the stairs and into his own room. Dave can appear lanky or thin sometimes, though he in reality does have enough muscles to deal with. Their bodies are just build in a different ways, John supposes. Because he knows how strong Dave is, how flexible and fast the teenager can be within minutes. Yet still, they are both different and have their own soft spots, weak and strong attributes. It's not something easy to deal with, John bitterly thinks, bringing up both astounding and horrifying thoughts inside his mind. Encountering his bed, he gently places Dave's sleeping form onto the bed, watching as the blond's head peacefully slumps lower into a pillow, body relaxing in the stroke of seconds.

In the frigid weather outside, the barren moon shines with a soft glow to brighten the dismal sky, stars among. A few rays seeps through the transparent panes of the window, askew managing to cast glowing strays to mildly shine upon a few spots of Dave's peaceful shape. John watches how Dave's skin almost looks white in the humble glow – and how the little, perky tip of his nose struts up in such natural manners, resulting for the rays to end its journey there, thus shadows rests along the rest of Dave's face and hair.

For a moment John considers Dave attractive in manners that are not healthy for the relationship they share.

John shakes his head at the sudden mesmerizing thoughts, scrunching his nose up in confusion. ''It's nothing,'' he blatantly whispers, mostly to himself.

He cracks a sigh before sliding in next to Dave, now only wearing a pair of briefs when settling next to the sleepy teenager. They are sharing one duvet. Great. Why don't you just let two teenagers with raging hormones share _one _bed with _one _duvet, because that obviously makes the world a better place. _Why the hell not_, John inwardly sobs.

''_What is wrong with me_,'' he mutters under his breath. His eyes flickers to the blond next to him once more.

Realisation dawns him harder than what is called for. Dave is, of course, still wearing his shirt and his black pants.

''_Stupid, stupid, stupid_,'' he snarls at himself, promptly propping himself up with his elbows. He leans closer to Dave and clumsily gives it an attempt.

However surprising it might be, Dave is a very heavy sleeper, which John does not understand. His brain simply doesn't compute with this new discovery of his, scrutinising what reasons might've caused this – of all time, right now. Dave hardly flinches the least as John gets a grip on the edge of the black jeans, unbuttoning them and ever so slowly pulling them down. The first time they met, in which was in Houston – Texas, Dave woke up with a sharp motion because John accidentally hit his toes against the door frame when taking a pee break in the middle of the night. But now, the result is rather the opposite of earlier commotions.

John closes his eyes forcefully for a moment when subsequently pulling up in Dave's shirt, getting a view of his toned stomach and chest. It's nothing too much, but not less either.

He saunters in the moment for a while, doing his utterly best to remain controlled. Hee can't concentrate right now _at all_. What might be the cause be? _Oh, you don't wanna know_, John bickers with his own inner me-voice, who invents all these... certainly creative ideas. He sucks in a breath and clumsily pulls it further, motioning with the boy's arms and has to endure the untangling of the shirt from both his heavy arms and head.

The embarrassment prickles his tan cheeks slightly in the end, eyes returning to his own business. Dave wears white boxer shorts with lots of hearts scattered on the fabric. The boy's eyebrows might be darker than his hair, but his happy-trail is almost white, barely prominent like small feathers. That is just a thing John shouldn't know, but now he does.

Meet John, the seventeen year old boy who assaults and analyses the body of his own best friend when said friend is soundly asleep.

And then there's his contact lenses. He almost forgot about them. The world really hates him this fine midnight.

After almost discarding his contact lenses as fast it went, he once more slides into the warm bed and settles down next to Dave, whose back is turned to him by now.

* * *

Dave's sight is blurred and dark, the palm of his hands rubbing against his closed eyes as he tries to reconnect himself to planet Earth. The first thing he feels when he's finally somehow awake, is the _furnace __lined _against his back. Back against back, Dave and someone else are sharing the bed. _That's funny_, Dave thinks. _Bro never wants to cuddle, neither wants brobot, Sawtooth or Squarewave_. The person and him are very close to each other right now, Dave can remark. He furrows his brows at the sensations brightening his nerves at the current time. This feeling... is it...

Arousal?

In a matter of seconds, he almost whips his torso up from the pillow and bed, eyes going wide when realizing where he is during the circumstances. ''John?'' He whispers, turning himself a bit towards the sleeping person next to him. The dark tousled hair is surprisingly obvious in the semi darkness.

Dave glares down himself and his torso, not to mention lap, mouth slightly agape when noticing how he is _not wearing any clothes_**! **Besides his boxers, that is. He doesn't remember falling asleep on the bed earlier this fine... night, morning or something. He doesn't know what time it is, but the moon is still up and glows mildly, brightening the room a tad up, thus making it easier to take a glance around.

The thought of John undressing him lids something inside him on fire, and he cups his cheeks shyly, a smile perching his lips in secretive. But woah, hey, how embarrassing. He wonders why John didn't just wake him up.

Lost is his thoughts, he is startled when a sudden noise erupts from John. The ruby eyes flickers to the sleeping body beside him, observing how the teenager is writhing a bit. He blinks rapidly and lays down, watching John's back for a while. The sudden outburst of noises continues, but they are far from loud, barely noticeable. But Dave hears them. Some of them reminds of groans. He squints his eyes.

He likes John's back. It's lean and slim by his hips, but broad at the shoulders. Even in the darkness he can see it. If he has the courage to reach out and trace his fingertips along the shoulder blades, he will do so. If he has, that is.

Mouth quirking downward in a frown, he turns around, turning his back to John once more. He tries to sleep again, ridiculously counting sheep with his eyes closed. And just to waste some more time, he imagines the heads of the sheep being replaced by Cal's creepy face. ''_Creepy, that's what I'm talking about_,'' Dave drawl in a whisper – far from falling asleep.

Another groan coming from the raven haired boy startles him from his thoughts, fingers gripping the sheets. That one almost sounds like a moan, Dave thinks, recalling it again and again in his head until he can feel the bed shift as John stirs in sleep.

Dave is more or less startled when he can feel something warm trace his waist, snaking down his abdomen and clinging around his tummy. ''Jo—_hiiieee,'' _Dave shrieks as silent as he can, gasp sucked out of his chest abruptly as he finds himself being pulled closer to a _brickwall_. Reminder of the day: Puberty has treated John very well, more than what Dave first had thought earlier. Like fucking Jesus christ has descended from the sky, brought to life for the task of handing John the gift of handsomeness and delicious attributes in person, kissing his abs, preaching: '_'you da man'' _to him and subsequently attending the 'Party Rock Anthem' video, because thug life chose him.

Dave's head is a mess right now.

Getting a closer view, rather say, f_eel_, is something different compared to be looking from a distance, Dave can tell by now.

''John, what are you-'' he attempts, pulse raising by the sudden intimate space looming between them. Thing is – there is no space between them. John has pulled Dave so close to him, nose and mouth resting against the nape of his neck, that Dave even thinks that he can feel John's heartbeat pound into his back.

Dave shudders visibly when John's warm breath spills over his skin, groans incessantly emerging, yet buried in Dave's skin the closer he gets. Automatically the blond's shoulders hunch up by the friction of the other teen's chapped lips pressing against the small tufts of blond hair trailing down his nape. ''John, wa_it-_'' he quips, distracted by the sensation of the mesmerizing heat the boy forces upon him.

If even possible, John clings closer to him, craning his neck and resting his chin slightly against the juncture of Dave's throat and side of neck, thus hovering bit by bit over him askew.

''_Dave_,'' he _moans_. And it's not just a simple moan, but a needy whisper, breathy and barely audible, but it's there, and it's replaying inside Dave's mind within seconds – over and over again, settling him into a trance. His whole body quivers, eyes going wide as he contemplate if this is reality or a part of his dirty mind.

But there's not only the throaty whispers of John, but also his whole body pressing against Dave's back. Dave's whole body goes slack as John's grip around his abdomen tightens, muscles flexing behind him as he _moves_. And he feels it, sense how _something _is pressing against the split of his buttocks, as if his boxers arent there.

Dave exclaims the amazing fact that-

**_- EGBERT IS HEAVILY ARMORED._**

It feels like Dave's heart is pounding with eighty kilometres in a hour and could just jump right out through his chest any second given. His knuckles are turning white by the force he uses to hold himself still, fingers gripping the sheets as he can _hear _how the bed creaks audibly from John's rather persistent motions.

John's warm hands slides from clinging around Dave's waist to gripping his hips somehow clumsily, but forcefully, taking advantage of his strength as he rubs against the man with an arching movement. Dave clamps a hand over his mouth promptly, close to biting his tongue – losing his grip on the sheets. He doesn't know if he should writhe himself out of the teenagers grip, or if he should wait until the boy will awaken. Not that he minds, which is the very, very bad thing, but John is not exactly conscious right now as far as Dave knows. He may not know what he's doing.

But his thoughts are short-lived as a creak from the bed reverberates in the room when John arches into Dave again, hissing at the friction of his erection rubbing against the split of Dave's buttocks.

Dave doesn't know what to do, resulting that he flails a bit, unsure of where to put his hands – no longer clamping his mouth shut. Considering how they're both laying on the side of their torso, Dave's other hand is now trapped fingering the sheets as if it depends his very life, the other one finding its way backwards to rest upon John's hip, almost buttock as the he rubs against Dave with another heavy push.

All of sudden Dave's boxers seems a little bit _too _tight, he can easily remark, even though his mind is hazy and seems clouded right now. His cheeks are lid with fire, a furious blush working it's way down his cheeks and even neck. John continues to ramble up unintelligible words between breathy moans, mouthing 'Dave' against the blondes throat as he bites down gently, teeth sinking into the skin. At this, Dave arches up back against John in response, shuddering out a groan through gritted teeth. That is not supposed to happen.

For a moment, Dave considers to turn around and face this. He is primarily occupied though in the meantime - and he stifles another moan released from his throat as the rubbing continues, John picking up what is considered a decent pace, mouth still buried against Dave's throat.

''_John_,'' he whispers in breathy outbursts as the last warning he may give. But this time - he does turn around. Flexible as he is, he writhes in John's strong grasp. John's hands fall still for a moment, before he incessantly claims his hips again when Dave is now facing him. Automatically John's leg just slides between the gap of Dave's - and they fit.

John's moans are gruff, a husky groan that results in Dave to hunger for _more. _For now Dave's eyes has been slid shut, closed as they move as one, but when John releases yet another noise, Dave is internally forced to look at the boy's expression. To see what face is behind those beautiful noises.

The raven-haired boy has his eyes closed with such intensity, mouth slightly open and face pulled into a groan as his hands slide further down Dave's body, past his hips and cups the both of his buttocks clumsily, thus adding more pressure on the grinding. A twinge happens to occur along Dave's spine at this, leaving him feeling absolutely slack.

But what is odd, though, is that John is really asleep.

Just when this tensing, exciting feelings starts to blossom in the pit of Dave's abdomen, his eyes bestow another glance at the taller boy's face. Something inside him freezes, nerves instantly pining him to stop. And he does, because this... This isn't right. John isn't _there_. He's not here in Dave's embrace, and he can't see, smell or feel the things Dave manages right now. It's not okay, because Dave doesn't want this to only be an experience of his own. He wants to share it, and not by waking the other teenager up in the middle of a casual and accidental frottage.

It is just not okay.

Without as much as a word, he brings both of his hands up and between John and himself, wriggling himself out of John's secure grasp. He earns an annoyed groan in return, and Dave knows why, and he's both mad at himself for making it this far – and for stopping right now. He knows John can't hear him, but he mutters a '_sorry_' under his breath anyway, because he feels _guilty_.

Quicker than said, he scurries away from the warm teenager, heels repeatedly digging into the soft plush of the mattress as he carefully, but quickly clamber his way over John. His knees almost gives in as soon as his feet recognizes the surface of the woolen carpet, and he staggers his way out of the room, stopping when making it to the door frame. He takes a quick glance back at the silhouette of John, who now has stopped to whimper, not to mention making any noises at all.

He nearly has a heart attack on his way to the bathroom, clutching the start of his throat with his hand as a reflex. ''Goddamn Casey,'' he hisses, shooshing the lizard away with flailing gestures of his flighty hands. They should have a sign attached to the ceiling:_Watch out, bubble-blowing lizards lurking in the dark._

When he makes it to the bathroom, the first thing he does is to turn on the light – in which is a terrible mistake, considering how he has forgotten how sensitive his eyes are to light. He takes a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror, noticing how sweat beads to his forehead, making his bangs cling to his skin. He is met by the familiar feeling of lurching against the wall, yet this time for another purpose. His boxers are still as gut clenching as before, erection easy to spot underneath the thin, heart dotted fabric. He pulls them down and satisfies his needs, the previous happenings replaying in his mind whilst doing so.


	7. Thongs and sailor moon

**Chapter seven and eight has been combined into one chapter. **

**Constructed: 27-06-2013. **

I hope you like Roxy.

I also hope you won't hate me for the ending. *wink*

* * *

It's warm.

Yet another time, Dave finds himself lazily rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes. Internally he screeches at the beaming light shining through the transparent panes of the window. If he will ever manage to get used to waking up in blinding light, he will accomplish to observe the small particles of dust floating timelessly in the rays. He wants to, and he tries his best, but he utterly fails at his worst. ''Shitty sensitivity,'' a snarl erupts from his throat, gruff by the exhaustion lingering in his voice. He mourns in the occurring agony, continuing to rub his eyes with balled fists in what might be identified as self pity.

That, and also he happens to notice the snoring form of a human laying beside him. How Dave managed to regain enough confidence to clamber back underneath the covers just a few hours ago, he doesn't remember. Much to his dismay, he remembers how he had ended up _cuddling w_ith the raven haired afterwards the humping session, despite making a huge effort not to end up touching the least. Dave cracks a heavy sigh, which succumbs to the sudden happiness flowing throughout his system as he watches the tan boy sleep in such peaceful manners. It even seems that John may have drooled a bit in his sleep, considering how something glistening is looming on the surface of the pillow he's resting his head on. Mouth is agape, light snores appearing along his in- and exhaling.

Dave is surprised by the urge to hit the boy. Hard.

''It mesmerizes me that you're even legal,'' snorts he nonchalantly, eyes flickering to his own business again. Enough glances has been bestowed upon John for the time being, and besides – Dave doesn't feel like nurturing a morning boner in present time.

Though apparently, John does.

_Don't look, don't look, _**_DON'T LOOK._**

Hitting or slapping John with a fish or something dead seems even more tempting right now. Perhaps it would trigger something if he awoke to his daughter, as he prefers to call her, Casey being lurched towards his direction. Now, that's some evil stuff popping up in Dave's mind right now. Dave shakes his head at his thoughts, face now resting against a sweaty palm of his.

He is startled by a sleepy murmur coming from the boy who is _supposed _to sleep, and he surprises himself by his own reflexes, remarking how he is _so_ close to scurrying out of the bed in order to jump into a new set of clothes. He feels awfully disposed, only wearing a pair of flattering heart dotted boxers.

But in the end he does, in fact, manage to raise himself from the comfy bed. His luggage is still downstairs – not to mention his precious sunglasses. It feels like his eyes are being roasted, despite eyes averting the heated rays of sunshine streaming into the room. Right now, what he needs is some clothes and his sunglasses. And perhaps a bath – and ejaculation as well.

Fuck.

He opens the door, furrowing his brows at the shrilly noise it makes as it creaks open. Before leaving, he glances at the sleeping boy yet another time, noticing how he is smiling tenderly against his pillow. '_'Smug bastard.''_

Dave is genuinely surprised to discover that Casey is not lurking behind some of the next corners this time. A pang of peculiarity strikes Dave by interest, red eyes flickering to every inch of the hallway to find no Casey staring back, standing on her little, retarded yellow feet with those huge eyes glistening orange.

''Whatever'' murmurs Dave, nose twitching as he sniffs solemnly and shrugs.

* * *

Finally making it downstairs, he is first to notice the complete mess they must have left from the other night. The couch looks as if ravaged by, well, Big foot 5x combo bustling around on the couch. Popcorn is scattered on the floor, along with chips and movies from the shelfs close to the television. Despite that they didn't even get to see any of those movies.

What matters right now are Dave's glasses. Even if gainsaying his very own thoughts, he feels more likely exposed if not wearing his sunglasses, however odd that may appear as. When he finds his preferred treasure, he gingerly maintains a grasp of the frames, placing them atop his nose. Perhaps it might just be a tremendous, fanatic part of his brain playing tricks on him, but he believes that he can hear the faint noise of a gospel musing from a distance. ''_A fucking relief,'' __he_mutters to himself, savouring the feeling of the frames pressuring the skin around his eyes.

He goes by the belief that his luggage is still placed somewhere in the front hall connected to the living room. Dave figures when he enters the hall.

He has only brought a suitcase to store his clothes and toilet tools in – and then another bag. A bag containing what Dave defines as bric-a-brac, plus John's christmas present. And his father's, too. He finds it somehow exciting – to celebrate christmas with John and his dad, that is. It will be one of the very first times he's held christmas with anyone but Bro, which just makes it a little bit more nerve wrecking. At least he'll prevent from being pranked by his wily brother this time, despite the suspicion of John having something crafty in mind worries him just the slightest.

The floor turns cold in the hall, and his toes curls a tad. He shudders.

Anyhow, what is to occupy his mind are the commands for himself to nestle into some warm clothes right now. The air is quite chilly, even frigid, Dave might add. Upstairs the air snugly clung to his skin, but he begs to differ now. With a lazy motion of his feet, he kicks the suitcase into a laying position, thus making it easier for him to unzip and rummage it for craved necessities.

He can feel his shoulders hunch in tension, fingers gripping the edges of the fabric surrounding the suitcase. Ruby eyes are at the current time scrutinising the content, orbs flickering to every inch and corner, one after another repeatedly.

Everything is dimming down in his sight – and the cause is nowhere close to the presence of his huge aviator glasses.

_''Bro...'' __t_he blonde croaks, corners of his mouth involuntarily quirking downwards in a heavy frown. He feels like burying his head in a pile of sand, escape what is named reality. He thought his brother and he had passed this stage of humiliation. He really did...

But time.

Time unveils the outrageous truth, and it always will.

Dave should have known better.

The worst part is that he expected it, but didn't react to his persistent suspicion.

Orbs eyeing the content of the suitcase in utter disgust, Dave reaches his hand up to tangle in his almost white tufts, groaning in distress whilst doing so.

''This can't be true,'' he snarls through gritted teeth, eyes forcefully closed for a second or two.

In the suitcase various of clothes are neatly placed atop each other in three lines. That's not bad at all, better than how he left it when _he_ accordingly was the one to decide what to include, but now – this is something entirely different. Japanese outfits and other absolutely ridiculous fabrics are the first things in view. As he dives down a hand in the bundles, he manages to angle for some of the underwear, bringing up a thong presumably for men – the number '69' scribbled in the white cotton. This is not okay. Draw a scale circle inside your mind to maintain what is okay or not and place the crucial dot five metres outside the frames to explain how not okay this is.

Dave internally swears. He is _so_ exceptionally close to be leaking a few couple of manly tears._So_ close. It doesn't make it any better when a shrilly noise reminding of a gleeful whine makes it to his ears, nearly resulting in him to jump two meters into thin air in utter surprise. Without any hint of common sense flowing throughout his mind, he attempts his best to cover his junk, even though he is already wearing the heart dotted pair of boxers.

Squinting his eyes, he glares at the person, rather say, woman intruding the front door. And what is he to say when he completely recognises those blond strands of curly hair as his own mother's.

**_''MOM?''_**

''_O.M.G_, **David baby**,'' the woman squeals, octaves higher than before. She hastily barges in, leaving the door wide open and pulls Dave into a bone crushing hug, thus making him gasp for air. The frigid temperature from outside easily leaks into the house in a matter of time, sending a chilly breeze to travel down his spine.

He must've completely ignored the creaking of the door before, considering how he hadn't noticed her presence at all, lost in pure distress.

His teeth are violently chattering, mourning a _''D-D-Door,'' _against the woman's blonde tufts. His nose is crushed against her shoulder and bangs by now, because she presumably finds it more preferable to drag him _down, _nearly cracking his neck in the process.

She withdraws herself, mouth shaped like a little o as she giggles shortly - if not apologizing, turning around on her heels to close the door. The heels eagerly clanks against the finely stone encrusted floor in the small hall when she once more turns around, settling an analysing glance to bestow upon Dave's appearance.

''_My, my, my,_ **David**!'' are the words to firstly leave her black lined, slightly plump lips. She sways her hips swiftly, resting the both of her hands there whilst continuing to hand Dave the honor of literally being examined with eyes only. ''Uh... I mean, it's not what you think,'' he quips and are quick to take a step in front of the suitcase to block her view. Seemingly, that is not exactly the thing she is paying attention to in present time.

Her rosa eyes flickers into a stare directed at Dave's sunglasses. He feels like she can see straight through them, and that is some of the things he hates the most about her. He cannot suppress the feeling of happiness streaming in his veins by her sudden emerging though, and he surely has missed her smug smile and light voice.

She takes a step forward, eyes sent watching from his feet to his head again, the escalator look granted. ''You've grown into being such a handsome, young man,'' she coos, barely preventing from snorting out another motherly squeal of excitement, Dave can remark.

Dave can't help himself but to respond with a lopsided grin and a hand sent awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck, kind of flattered by her compliments. ''How tall are you now?'' She asks. ''I'd say about 1.79 cm,'' he replies. Her eyes widen, dainty hands clasping together as she coos yet another time. ''What a hunk, jesus,'' her ramble continues. She is about 165 cm tall herself, noticing the obvious difference between their heights.

''But that is nothing compared to John,'' he quickly adds, nose scrunching up in what might be identified as jealousy or anything alike. But hey, Striders are never jealous – because they are moulded of coolness and irony. Not really. Dave is deadly jealous.

Roxy seems to be lost in her very own thinking pan, mouth puckering as she taps two fingers against her chin. ''I think he's about 191 cm tall or something alike, oh boy,'' she concludes, cocking a brow like she has impressed herself. At this, Dave simply glares with his mouth agape, closing and opening partly like a goldfish. Roxy is quick to pull the poor teenager into her safe embrace as he whines against her soft scalp. _''It's not fucking faaaaair.''_

''Shh, lil' man, it's o.k, mommy Lalonde is here,'' she shooshes, first realizing her mistake by words when the taller's mourns turns even louder. ''Gosh, _sorry_,'' she pets his back in a comforting way, caressing his naked shoulder blades in slow actions.

Dave's face expression is still telling anything but dismay when they pull apart again, sniffing solemnly. Roxy batters her eyelashes and coos for what might be the fifth time, in reassuring manners saying ''you'll always be momma Lalondes big boy.''

_What are we even doing_, he thinks. This is so stupid, yet it's okay. Being eighteen and a little spastic about your own height is all right.

The thought of his growing process stopping at the age of eighteen suddenly reminds him of why to be mourning. Shit.

When Dave has clambered in the dust and picked up his pride again, he finally gets to ask why the heck she is here. Her smile turns even wider, eyes glistening rosa. ''Why, I'm, like, together with Jose now,'' she says, putting extra emphasis on 'together'.

''Wow.''

''I know right? But he's _such_ a _gentleman_, I tell ya'!'' she drawls, squinting her eyes in a pleased look. She's wearing a brown coat now instead of the white laboratory looking one. But no matter what complications are to occur, she always makes sure to wear her pink scarf. It fits her nonetheless, so Dave is not one to complain.

She strips off her coat and hangs it on one of the coat hooks. All of sudden Dave knows exactly where Bro got the horrible idea of knitting his own or buying ugly sweaters, because the pink homemade one Roxy is wearing tops the list. Right after the red one with a smuppet plastered on the front laying in Dave's suitcase, that is.

Lost in thoughts, he doesn't notice how Roxy passes his luggage – and before turning to encounter the kitchen, she abruptly stops and bestows a more than curious look at the content of the suitcase. No.

_NO_!

Because, of course, the first thing now laying atop the bundles of clothes is the tremendous thong. Dave nearly wheezes when scurrying to the suitcase, closing it with a loud thud and afterwards persistently sits on it, a determined, not to mention pleading look painted in his eyes. Which she, of course, can't see due his shades. Great.

''David, I swear I saw a pair of thongs and a poor imitation of Sailor moon stored in there,'' she chirps, batting her eyelashes in not so puerile manners.

''It's nothing,'' Dave grouses.

''Care to explain me why there also were a pack of condoms?''

Dave's voice turns gruff, ''Wait, wha-''

He barely manages to register what is happening, because all of sudden he feels himself go limp as he is shoved – though surprisingly gently - aside and away from the suitcase, cocking both of his brows in bewilderment. He winces at the cold floor, god damn nearly growling, hands alternately rubbing his biceps across to supress the goosebumps.

''_Jesus_, mom,'' he broods and props himself up. The woman is on her knees, examining the suitcase with sudden interest. She holds up the ugly sweater with a plush on it, snorts and turns to the next object. Dave is glaring expectantly at her when she gasps, wondering what other mysterious things Bro has brought and what not. ''You've got condoms with apple flavor-'' she declares aloud, clenching the little pack between two fingers and fanning them. What is worse, is that she's shooting him a reproachful glare. ''- And you didn't send any to _me_?''

It's okay. Dave just has the urge to go puke his guts out somewhere, either from humiliation or the thoughts of his mother having a more likely active sex life than him.

''It's not mine!'' He keens urgently, throwing a fit with his arms to show his obvious distress.

''-And it's in large sizes? Is John really-'' Questions she, an inquiring expression playing across he features.

Dave gapes.

''No, you see- _N_**O**!''

This is only getting worse.

She averts his eyes for a short amount of time before slipping the condoms down her denim pants´ pocket- and Dave just doesn't want to know why. ''Oh, David,'' she chirps, a wily smile tugging her lopsided grin. ''Im totally not implying anything,'' she says.

''You're dead to me,'' he broods.

''I love you too, hunny,'' is the answer. She leans forward and plants a solid kiss to his forehead.

''Bro is the one who packed this shit for me. He must've swapped it while I was distracted by something else,'' Dave grouses shortly after.

For a moment she just stares at him. And then she laughs. She hauls herself into a giggling fit that just doesn't stop, continuing until she's literally gasping for air and slapping her thigh repeatedly. **''Classic****!''** Are the words she manages to stutter between laughs.

''I'm going to strangle myself with the thong if you don't stop,'' he deadpans.

She only laughs harder, squinting her eyes and brings her hand up to draw away some tears that aren't there.

''That crazy bastard,'' she finally sighs with a happy smile.

''You guys are the worst.''

''But we love you,'' she coos and tilts her head with another grin.

''Yeah.''

* * *

''S' good to be here,'' she drawls like the classy lady she is, spinning a teaspoon elegantly in her mug of hot coffee. They are in the kitchen now, and Dave is still only wearing his boxers. He is nowhere close to be willing in participating in Bro's sick game, and therefore refuses to wear any of given clothes. Roxy is leaning against one of the kitchen counters, whilst Dave is sitting on a chair, drinking a mug of hot chocolate instead. Quick and cheap, but it still tates good. Dave takes another sip and savors the warm liquid spoiling his taste buds. He wipes some of the cream away from his mouth. ''Have I got something...'' he asks, trailing off. Roxy looks up from her mug and shakes her head, ''nah, sugarkid,'' she hurriedly answers.

Dave has gotten used to her peculiar way of giving him nicknames, but they appear at random times - and after all it's not that bad. He will never forget the day she called him Apple Jack. Never.

An awkward spand of silence lingers between them for a while. Right until she slams her mug onto the table, taking a seat on the opposite chair. ''Dave,'' says she, taking use of a rather stern voice.

''Mom?'' he returns with ease, drinking the last chocolate with a gulp, whereas he afterwards settles it on the table as well.

''Remind me of why I drink coffee anyway? It tastes horrible,'' she sputters, frowning and thus in the process manages to shape very few wrinkles on her forehead.

''-Don't answer that.''

She readjusts her seat and folds her hands neatly, clasping them together and once more glares at Dave with that serious look that scares Dave just a tad.

''Are you and Johnny boy a thing or what?''

If Dave still was drinking something, he would choke on it immediately.

''What- **no**!'' He spits, shaking his head instantly, a nervous laugh omitting from his lips. He brings up a hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

''He would never want someone like me,'' the answer appears- forgetting last night's commotion.

On the opposite chair, Roxy is giving her best death glare, succeeding with astounding results. She is quick to catch the both of Dave's hands, locking them between hers, eyes looking straight into his aviator glasses. '''Ok, ok, ok, listen up here, cub. You are so precious, you know that? Don't even think of that crap,'' she says, voice soft and reassuring.

''Besides, momma Roxy is here to teach you how to groove with the love moves,'' she says shortly after, cocking brow as she bares her teeth in a small smirk. That is not exactly calming.

''Ok, ok, ok,'' she continues, ''listen up. I've got the perfect line for you, listen up here, young man.''

Her eyes are slightly squinted, mouth pursed in determination.

''_Wanna jingle my bojangles?_''

Dave is so done. Fly into the sun, never return. Never look back.

So done.

Dave withdraws himself, fingers _groping_ his own face to display how ridiculed he is right now.

This time her laugh is evident, reverberating in the kitchen as she clutches her stomach and nearly topples over the chair. At least he can notice how she hasn't been drinking lately, but that doesn't make her less goofy.

''Oh my god, so sorry sugarkid, I just,'' _wheeze_.

Dave raises himself from the chair, a short chuckle leaving his lips.

''Does he make your kokoro go doki doki,'' she chirps when finishing laughing.

The blonde turns around on the balls of his feet, shooting the woman a glare that says '_can-u-not', _because he has already had exactly this kind of discussion before, however weird that sounds. And Bro said the exact same things, something about mokoko and okide or something. Altogether hella confusing.

''Love you, mom,'' he mutters under his breath and pulls her into his embrace when she stands up to clean the mugs. She sighs along with it and returns the hug. They stand for that in a few couple of minutes, until she wonders aloud: ''I hope we haven't awoken Jose or John. Either way, you better hide that shit of yours if you don't want Johnny boy to see it.''

Dave nods as he withdraws himself from her, slowly leaving the kitchen. Before he makes it to his luggage, he can hear Roxy's voice from the kitchen – saying: ''oh yeah, it's the 21st December today! The end of the world,'' followed by a snort.

* * *

Despite the effort Bro presumably had put in packing Dave's suitcase, Dave is nowhere close to wearing any of it. Or maybe. Only because he doesn't want to plead John to borrow some clothes.

Fuck.

John is still sleeping soundly in his bed when Dave finally makes his way upstairs. Dave places his luggage fucking metres away from John, because he doesn't want John to peek in it by any means. No way in hell he wants that to happen. But there is nowhere in the room where he can hide it, so to secure his safety, he ends up pushing it underneath the bed – after rummaging it for stuff he might need. At least he has his toothbrush and some shampoo for his hair and some skin care, but that's all he actually _can_ use without being held underneath the grasp of humiliation.

''Dave..'' A sound mutters, and Dave looks up to find John glaring at him with sleepy eyes, legs tangled in the duvet.

''_Oh,_ h-hi, John,'' Dave croaks, averting bonding eyes with him, because _fuck_, the moment he sees those navy blue eyes, all he can think of is the teenager's voice, thick of sleep and lust, moaning his name. Perhaps he was being delusional? Maybe it was all just a dream? A sick, perverted dream occurring in Dave's tricky mind.

But it felt so real though, it truly did.

''For how long have I been sleeping,'' the teenager murmurs, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes with the palms of his hands. He swings his legs over the edge and sits still for a moment, as if lost in his thoughts.

''I've only been awake for about a little more than an hour or so,'' Dave explains. John doesn't answer, head bend whilst he stares down his lap, like he's in trance.

''Hey, John?''

No response. The raven haired is breathing gruffly, furrowing his brows, but nonetheless his eyes carries on with the mindless staring. ''John?'' The blond questions again, worry light in his voice.

The boy only looks up when Dave snaps his fingers in front of his face, and he can see how John's jaw clenches as their eyes meet. It feels like John can see through his glasses. Dave really hates when people can make him feel vulnerable, as if eyes disposed to the rest of the world. Like Roxy could. Because Roxy knows Dave, so does Bro, Rose, Jade – and John as well. But with John, it feels slightly different. How, he cannot explain.

''Are you okay?'' He asks him, though in reality, Dave feels like getting the question redirected towards himself. John seems genuinely puzzled, blinking his eyes and opens his mouth to say something. But nothing comes out.

Dave is kneeled in front of John. In order to help him further, Dave brings a hand up to rest upon John's naked shoulder. He attempts to forget how strong and soothing the flesh underneath his palm feels, eyes concentrating on the blue ones in front of him. But he can't. He cannot help but to notice how John's shoulders tenses a bit by the touch, even though he doesn't move an inch.

For what seems to be the hundredth time, Dave asks with a ''John,'' again. John visibly swallows a lump, jaw going a bit slack again whilst trying to find any words to say.

''Uhm, I just... Think...'' He mutters, eyes half-lidded in the midst of it and he tilts his head.

''Yeah?'' Dave urges gently.

The tan boy's glance hesitantly flickers to Dave's lips, just briefly, and Dave doesn't notice.

''I.. uh...''

Another heavy gulp.

''Did you...'' He makes a poor attempt to continue.

''Something this night...''

Dave's blood goes cold. Does he remember? Did it happen?

''I, I guess it's nothing,'' the boy chuckles softly at last, baring his teeth in a small, clumsy smile.

The blonde sucks in a breath, feeling how his jaw is hurting slighty by the grinding of his gritted teeth. He hopes John doesn't remember. But he also hopes that he does, somehow.

* * *

Dave is sitting on the bed by now, glaring into thin air. What happened before was most definitely weird. For a moment he thought that John had remembered the commotion from last night. Which is, in Dave's point of view, a catastrophe - despite that John was the one to prod first. But Dave didn't stop the boy's doings, either prevented from enjoying it, and thus Dave feels like blaming himself for it. Because he was the only one who was awake throughout the humping session, after all.

The blonde snorts and crosses his arms, eyes scanning the room briefly. John is at the current time showering – and he's taking all the time he wants, so it seems. He's been gone for almost fifteen minutes, which is more than what is called for, thinks Dave. The blonde usually spends ten minutes or less showering, which John doesn't seem to follow along with. But they're different, and the air in the room is snug, so Dave doesn't mind after all.

His arms drapes across his chest and tenderly caresses his biceps, even though it's not even cold. But the small, barely prominent hair on his arms are standing straight on his skin as he shudders out another groan. If John really does find out, Dave is screwed. Dave figures as much. Besides, he's found screwed in multiple ways. For further assurance, he brings a hand up and makes counting motions.

1. He's got a ferocious crush on his best friend.

2. All of his clothes have been swapped with cheap Sailor moon cosplay shit, thongs, sweaters and other stuff, which are not to be mentioned.

3. All of sudden his mother shows up at random, intruding like she owns the house – and Dave understands _nothing_ anymore.

4. Last night he found himself helplessly being humped by his best didn't stop him before he was almost creaming his own pants, and now he fears that the other boy regrets it – despite perhaps not even knowing the occurence found place.

_Life is simply miraculous_, Dave broods with sarcasm lingering to said thoughts, closing his eyes and releasing another tired groan. For what might be the fourth time, he rummage his suitcase – in case something useful might be hidden somewhere. But no. He finds other examples of illegal underwear that is just not supposed to exist. Even in his wildest imaginations, he would've never thought such panties existed. And they're specifically made for men.

_Men._

He hunches his head backwards, feeling how fake double chins shapes underneath his jaw in the process. This is unbelievable.

So well, perhaps it will be more personable if he just loans some clothes from a certain raven haired boy. He raises himself and scoots closer to the wardrobe displayed on the opposite wall of where the bed stands. ''Okay then,'' murmurs he to himself. ''A simple peek won't hurt.''

The shirts are too big, and so are the pants. The pants are definitely too long, unfortunately. Dave wonders if he can make a bonfire outside taking use of some voodoo magic, burn the clothes and dance around it screaming 'yada, yada'. That would be perfect. So, so perfect.

When John appears in the door frame, almost busting Dave in examining one of the shirts a little _too_ closely, Dave almost trips over his own feet. ''John?'' He exclaims, as if having an approval of his current presence needed.

The teenager just glares at Dave, granting him the escalator look with a smile perching his lips. ''Are you checking out my clothes?'' He asks, taking a step further ahead.

John has obviously _just_ swung a dry towel around his pelvis, loosely tied it and just went ahead. Because hey, that's totally okay. His hair is still damp from the shower, beaded to his forehead as small water droplets trickles down his cheeks. And _oh- _he's using the perfume Dave had gifted him awhile ago.

Ruby eyes scrutinises the sight before him for a second or two, sucking in a breath when his eyes travel across the evident, black happy trail snaking down a little further ahead the tan boy's navel - disappearing down the edge of the towel. He attempts to not notice how the muscles rolls when a few water drops slips between the brinks of the toned abs. He tries not to notice how everything seems to be perfectly put into place. He tries not to notice how affected he is by John's presence altogether.

He quickly snaps back into reality before exceeding the point of spacing out. ''I... am?'' He repeats, blinking owlishly and bestows a glare at the fabric held in his hands. ''Oh, yeah'' Grins he, breath a tad ragged.. ''It's just that...,'' he trails off, somewhat hoping that the other boy gets the innuendo.

''Can I... Can I borrow some of your clothes,'' the inquiry finally appears. John cocks an eyebrow and flickers his eyes back and forth Dave and his wardrobe. He shrugs shortly, saying ''yeah, sure. I don't know if you can fit any of it, though.''

_The agony._

Dave fishes out some random shirts from the wardrobe and incessantly shifts his glare to each one of them, thoroughly considering which one is worthy enough. Thing is: he can't, by all means, fit John's pants. That is a fatal problem. John is standing a little behind him, watching and in unison pondering about what to wear himself. When John gets a little too close, Dave is quick to arch his back forward, avoiding physical contact by all means. But it's problematic, because he can almost feel how the other boy is radiating warmth. John doesn't seem to notice Dave's discomfort though, and that is somehow a good thing, because Dave is practically tiptoeing around the other man.

The blonde mutters a silent 'thanks' underneath his breath as he tightens his grip around one plain white t-shirt. When he turns around, John isn't exactly paying attention to his words, it seems. The navy eyes are fixated at something else, spacing out whilst his look is captured on Dave's bare stomach – or something behind him. His concentration seems to return immediately when the pale skin is covered by an even whiter cotton shirt. Dave would've notice – if it wasn't for himself helplessly caught in trance whilst greedily devouring the appearance of his fellow being.

''You should... also get dressed, right?'' Dave swallows a lump. John shifts his look to linger at Dave's face once more. ''Oh- sure.''

Dave decides to just wear his black pants from yesterday again. He had attempted to wear a pair of John's pants, but found himself throwing them right back at the blue eyed boy when he hysterically laughed at the size difference.

As John is taking his sweet time chosing what to wear, Dave is sitting on the the bed, doing his best to not look too much. Look at how the man gently rolls down a shirt, sees how the fabric clings to his shape and muscles, specially now that he has chosen not to wear a cardigan today. It's cold outside, they know that, but they have already talked about just putting responsibilities and things alike aside, instead spending the day being the lazy slobs they are.

But then, Dave remembers something important. ''Is there some sort of clothing heaven nearby your house?'' He asks.

John seems puzzled for a moment. ''There is a big mall nearby that we can visit, if you want to?''

The blonde manages to notice the question laying within said words. Why in the name of hannah montannah _(haa, author is __**hilarious**__) _would Dave need to visit a clothes store now of all times.

''Don't give me that look! I just..''

Oh, fuck it.

''Bro has swapped the contet of my suitcase with cheap bric-a-brac,'' he explains so fast that John is having a hard time catching the whole sentence.

''Oh.''

''Yes, Egbert, you see, _that_ is a problem. If you want to witness me dancing around in an anime _kawaii_ girl outfit, you are more than welcome to dress me up, because I've got what is needed right in this bag,'' Dave says, sarcasm nearly dripping off by said words as he pulls out the suitcase from underneath the bed.

* * *

Before they head to the mall, Dave is to strip off his clothes despite just having put it on. He takes a quick bath, because _shit_, hygiene is important as well. Every now and then he catches Egbert sneaking glances at him, and boy, ask him if he enjoys that. Since yesterday, John's behaviour seems... off. Which is weird, because Dave should be the one to be thoroughly mindblown, not to mention affected.

They take use of Egbert's car to drive to the mall. Whilst driving, Dave asks how come his mother, Roxy, has a key to the house. Somehow, he still feels slightly affected by the earlier shock. John can't do anything but to snicker.

''My dad told me that they already began to date almost in the beginning of the Sburb session. Now that it's finito,'' he explains, smiling at his own choice of words, ''they really are dating. I shouldn't wonder if they will get married sooner or later.''

At this, Dave's eyebrows almost flies up his hairline. His hair is tousled and ruly, sticking out at random places. As they speak, he fixes his hair, combing his fingers through the strands by looking in the car mirror, flapping it down to glare upon himself.

''And this has been going on for a whole lot of time, you say?'' He snorts to himself. He didn't even have a clue that would be the case. Rose never mentioned anything about it, neither did Roxy – or Bro... Or jade or John. Such trust and confidence held between them, it's _beautiful._

''I thought you already knew,'' says John absently, sticking the tip of his tongue out when they encounter a roundabout.

He continues shortly after, ''Anyway, they are together – and Roxy is like a part of the family now. So is Rose, because sometimes she's here as well. Roxy comes when she and my dad makes up meetings. Now she's got her own key to the house...''

''I think she's celebrating christmas with us this year.''

Dave tilts his head. It's not bad at all, but unexpected. He doesn't mind it too much. Plus Bro and Roxy broke apart before Dave even could say a word. Lately, surprises and unexpected feelings has been his resource to continue living.

''She took my apple flavored condoms.''

Navy colored eyes are widening.

''You brought _condoms_?''

Dave answers with a pair of lifted eyebrows. Wink, wonk.

He laughs when seeing John's current face expression, the gentle slope of his nose scrunched up in a shocked expression, eyes wide and mouth closing and opening like a goldfish.

''It was Bro who brought them, that sneaky fucker. Along with thongs and japanese suits.''

A flat hand is brought colliding with John's shoulder as Dave snorts out a cheeky laugh. ''Don't get your panties in a bunch.''

* * *

When arriving, they step out of the car and John locks it. It certainly is cold outside, and for every breath they exhale, a small puffy cloud is to replace it and fade into nothing. John is wearing what might remind of a coat, despite it only reaches to the fadeout of his hips and edge of his denim pants. Buttons are in two lines in the middle trailing down, fabric gray. As an accessory, he has thrown a blue scarf around his neck loosely to hang there.

And then there's Dave. As _cool_ he is, he doesn't wear a jacket, rather say a very thick hoodie, that under these circumstances still manages to cling snugly on him – despite a bulge hanging on the front due the pockets gouging out. It's blood red, and the words 'ICE COLD' are scribbled there in white letters, and at the upper part of his left arm, a broken disc is carved there in same texture.

The mall is surprisingly _huge_, resulting in Dave to almost bounce on the balls of his feet due pure excitement. It's been a long time since he's last bought any clothes, and he enters the mall in hope that they have something preferable to offer.

They pass a lot of stores, but nothing that seems to catch Dave's attention. John is striding next to him, absently letting his eyes wander, until he countless of times discovers the joy of spotting a Gamestop store, restaurants, photoboxes and other stuff.

''I might be in for the Gamestop part later on when I've ragged some shit for me to wear,'' Dave yaps, covering his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. John keens eagerly at this, ''I've never played Skyrim before, but I'm dying to try it out.''

Dave curtly pushes some bangs away from his eyes with a flick of his face. ''I'd rather buy Just Dance 4,'' he suggests, smile coy. John shudders audibly at this. ''You're kidding me.'' Dave earns a foolish elbow in his ribcage for peek and fun. ''I'm serious, Egderp. I'll buy it, and I'll beat your sorry ass in it,'' huffs Dave nonchalantly.

John literally has to drag Dave away from the section with Just Dance stored by the next time they pass a shop with games.

Finally Dave finds a store he finds decent. Lost in concentration that mesmerizes John, he walks among the tables and racks with a determined look on his face.

Dave can feel something warm trickle against the tufts of his nape. He turns around to glare at the person intruding his personal space, only to find John smirking down at him. They are very close, Dave remarks. ''You're such a creeper, ya' kno'?'' Drawls Dave, taking a step aside to pick up a random pair of pants. ''They're too long,'' John complies with a gesture of his hand. Squinting his eyes, the blonde picks up another pair, whereas John says the same the moment his eyes bestow upon them.

''And you declare solemnly that I'm an asshole, king eg**derp**,'' Dave deadpans. It's a rethorical declaration.

John snickers quietly and moves on, Dave's eyes following his every move behind the huge sunglasses. ''You love me anyway.''

No response.

Dave doesn't even bother to fold the pants before moving on, dismissively dropping it and turning to the next table.

* * *

''Does these fit me?'' Asks Dave absently from behind the curtain. John is bustling around outside the changing rooms. The moment the sentence leaves his mouth, Dave is so close to banging his head against the ceiling – or perhaps the mirror, just to dull his own stupidity. What he doesn't expect is for John to actually push the curtain aside with an elegant movement of his wrist, popping his head into the little room in order to answer the question.

This is the right moment for the blonde to feel slightly self-conscious. The raven haired boy has his eyes squinted, quirking his mouth whilst pursing his lips as if about to answer the questions to settle the world's security. Dave can feel his heart go _tha-thump tha-thump _in his chest. Something does flips in the pit of his abdomen as the teenager scoots closer to him, almost hovering above him tad by tad due the lack of space.

Okay, this is not homosexual at all. This is nowhere close to displaying such behavior, no, not at all. It's cool.

_Ok, ok, ok, ok it's not cool_, Dave quickly rethinks, noticing how the boy grants him an evident escalator look. The blonde goes by the belief that he is about to faint right now if he doesn't get to inhale is own oxygen soon, but the tan boy _doesn't_ withdraw himself.

The red eyed teenager attempts to play it off casually, strutting his fingers with open palms as he gestures for the other teenager to observe chosen pants. ''Do they fit?'' He tries again. ''Yeah.''

''I'm like Nicki Minaj in bootyshorts.''

''Mhm.''

''John?''

''Yes?

Another short step is taken straight into Dave's personal space. Halle-fucking-luja. If he isn't so concerned right now about John's weird demeanour, plus the sudden attention, he would've been pleasured. Not that he doesn't like it right now. Which is, again, the very, very bad thing.

His jaw goes slack – in loss for words when John scoots even closer, cautiously reaching a hand up to press against the mirror behind Dave. But those blue, blue eyes are still attached to Dave's face whilst doing so, backing Dave up against the corner with a rather passive, owlish look on his face. Dave isn't sure he knows what he is doing, and John isn't very sure either.

Putting slight effort into moving his torso closer to Dave, John slowly shuts the distance between them. Dave has his chin held up to look up at the owner of those blue eyes, back now crammed against the mirror completely. Involuntarily he slides his tongue briefly along his own chaste lips, observing how the innocent move attracts John's wished awareness. The teenager bares his teeth with a pull of the corners of his mouth, gritted as he exhales a husky breath, whispering ''Dave'' so quietly the blonde is lucky to witness it.

The fair-haired boy's tummy is making flip flops, heart close to failing on him now of all times. A furious blush is prickling his cheeks against his will, but he can't cuss himself out for feeling or reacting this way. Not when his mind feels emptied, though at the same time occupied with the anxiety of what to do and how to handle this.

His breath is tickling his lips. It feels so real, yet so foreign and far away. John can count all of Dave's freckles from this distance, if you can define any distance being between them at all, that is. Even though he can't see the Dave's tremendous eyes behind those aviator glasses, he know's the boy is glaring right back at him. With a tilt of his head, he closes in on the other boy, a corny feeling occupying his veins throughout his system as he presses his lips against something soft, but dry.

The pleasure is well earned, but exceptionally short lived. John is nearly melting through his good skin when he can remark something pointy repeatedly pressing down between his shoulder blades. He withdraws himself, not even bestowing Dave a glare before peeking over his shoulder – only to find a very short girl with auburn hair craving their attention. She folds her hands across her stomach and grants the two teenagers what is considered a strained smile. Which doesn't look like a smile at all. Her eyes shows nothing but fatigue and annoyance.

''Excuse me, but you are not allowed to perform such behaviour in the changing room.''

_Shit._


	8. So good

**Constructed: 27-06-2013.**

**(Warning: Explicit description of intimate ocurrence.) **

* * *

Despite the occurrence in the changing room, Dave manages to buy a pair of pants and even a t-shirt and a cardigan. Both of their faces are red as tomatoes as they make their way out- and whilst at it, they keep the space between them very distant. The auburn haired cashier lady has nothing else to say, presumably already more than aggravated to find two teenagers snogging in the store. Quite unprofitable done of them.

They make their leave and stroll along the rest of the stores now, averting eye contact and figuring out what restaurant to pay a visit to, though it's quite complicated, taking into account how they can barely bestow a glare at each other. Dave readjusts his glasses for the fourth time and visits another clothes store – John following suit, not saying a word. When he is to try out another piece of clothing, he swiftly looks at John, in a way putting up a barrier by warning the other boy. ''Don't be walkin' up my ass,'' Dave hisses through gritted teeth when John actually follows. What happened in the changing room the both of them doesn't know, and Dave is incapable of knowing how to react any further. This is what he has lusted for for a whole while, but somehow it doesn't feel right. Not like this - not in this way.

_But kisses are neat_, Dave whimpers inwardly. He does in honesty want those lips moving against his own – of all times right now. And then he doesn't.

John is politely awaiting outside, completely away from the corner containing changing rooms and thus obeying Dave's innuendo.

_It's weird_, John thinks. Dave's reaction isn't as expected, that is. Neither is his own. They shared a kiss – and not just any kiss, the lingering atmosphere surely can prove. Despite the very kiss being short-lived, those five second has simply scrambled John's thoughts upside and down. He doesn't remember harboring this for Dave. But when he saw that picture of Dave weeks ago, the only thing he has been able to think of has been him. Dave, Dave, Dave – Dave _and_ Dave.

Perhaps it was just a platonic surge of urges. Perhaps.

He's afraid it isn't a simple crush. Small, futile crushes like this are not supposed to manage such impact on him- because he has tried to feel like before. But that didn't end up well, either.

John is startled when Dave returns and jabs an elbow into his ribcage, demanding his attention abruptly. They're still best buddies – no matter what. A simple kiss is not to change that. Dave probably doesn't think highly of it anyway, John consoles to himself, however romantic and triggering it was.

But he wishes it would.

Just a bit.

* * *

When they find a decent restaurant, John is the one to encounter first. The both of them are met by a young girl who works as a waiter. John speaks up first, requesting a table for two politely and offers a smile, Dave standing beside and interpreting it secretively. The girl must've taken notice of Dave's loving glare – saving for the huge aviator glasses standing in the way, and she beams up with an eager smile and nods as an approval.

Almost skidding to John and Dave's table, she hands them the Menu, recommending some joyful delicacies– mostly those dishes who are shared between two people or more. She sweeps herself onto a chair elegantly and rests her chin in the palms of her hands propped onto the surface of the table. It's quite eventful speaking to her, both teenagers innermost admits. Before leaving to confirm the orders, she softly spoken wishes them congratulation, disappearing down the room as she takes in more orders from other customers.

For a minute or two they sit there in silence, dwelling in unison on what she meant by congratulating them. Though fairly late, it clicks into place and John's eyes almost gouges out of his head. ''She think's we're a couple!'' Exclaims he loudly, attracting the unbidden attention from other people among them. Dave's eyebrows flies up his hairline, and he additionally attempts to act less gay. He's just a natural talent at being one, unfortunately. Well, partly. He still likes girls, and so does John – he supposes.

_Do I even like girls_, Dave wonders. He has by now started an internal debate with himself weither or not he is completely homosexual.

They sit and do their best to avoid conversing for quite awhile, either coughing awkwardly or hiding their faces beind a glass of water or perhaps fixing their looks at some sculptures or furniture in the room.

''So...'' John begins, voice thick of insecurity. Dave glares up from his glass of water finely nestled within his hand, tapping his fingers against the transparent surface. ''Yeah,'' he answers – simply. ''Are you okay?'' Asks John, looking genuinely worried. It makes the fair-haired boy want to pet his hair and tell him that everything is okay. Those navy blue eyes looks as if belonging to a kicked puppy – so tremendously blue even through the blockade of Dave's shades.

Lost in trance, Dave snaps out of the other boy's lingering gaze, blinking his eyes and nodding ferociously. ''Coo- I, I mean yeah, sure. Cool as fucking ice,'' he stammers. John is not convinced.

The waiter returns with the food, a kind smile sprawled upon her small lips as she places the food. Once more, they can feel her curious gaze bestowed alternately on each. ''How did you get together?'' She pipes up, flashing a shy batter of her eyelashes. This time it is Dave's time to gawk, dumbfounded in the weirdest way found possible. Dave is about to raise his finger, point out her obvious mistake when John chimes in, butting Dave out of the conversation before he can manage to attend. The insecurity dimnishes as if forgotten - and John chuckles lightly and sips some of his given Cola, smoothly saying ''We've been together for four months now. I met him at his work in a Starbucks café when he spilled coffee all over my shirt.''

For now the girl seems even more interested, once more taking seat next to Dave. ''Cute!'' She chirps and sighs happily. Next to her, Dave is flabbergasted – if not gawking more than he did before. The situation seems incredibly surreal, not to mention the fact that she went on assuming for them to be a couple the moment they treaded inside the restaurant is just a little _too corny_. Dave also happens to wonder about from where John got that witty little story of his fished into duty. _He must be watching Glee. _

_No, John may as well stake the claim as being the king of lame instead_, Dave innerly mutters – soul hollowed as John simply continues, ''it was awkward at first, but we got together at last. Turns out he's a sore loser at games, and he's bad at it too.'' Dave scrunches his nose up in an unsatisfied expression.

''Yes, _dearrr_, speaking of sore losers, you were one snarky lemon last night, weren't you?'' Dave cooes. He shifts his glare to the waiter, noticing how her eyes are now at him. He whispers loudly enough for John to hear, ''He wasn't able to get it up - I know right,'' Dave chatters playfully.

''It happens!'' She reassuringly concludes, continuously chatting up with other examples..

From the opposite chair, John is glaring daggers.

* * *

''C'mon John,'' Dave clicks his tongue, adjusting his seat and redirecting his torso towards John. The blue eyed boy is motioning the steering wheel expertly between his hands, jerking it sharply to the left when encountering another roundabout on purpose, thus resulting in Dave to almost smash his head into the window pane. John smiles in secretive.

''_Pissy as a girl on her period_,'' Dave hisses and combs his fingers through his hair, fixing his tousled hair yet another time. But they're both smiling, and when John answers with a purr and roll of his tongue, everything is fine again. There's nothing better than pretending to be homosexual with your best bro. Even if you have a crush on that certain friend.

When arriving at John's home, the house smells like newly baked goodies. Dave hums lowly and shuts the door after himself, hanging his hoodie up on a coat hook and follows John into the kitchen. Roxy is baking some sort of christmas biscuits. It looks like a mess, though the smell tells otherwise. Roxy is singing along with a song playing in the radio, and oh my god, she can both sing and bake. It's like a whole new world has been discovered in Dave's point of view. ''Smells rad,'' Dave complies. He sneaks up behind Roxy and presses a kiss to her temple from behind, thus craning his neck a tad. She isn't surprised though, but simply grins and greets them with a ''Hayy boys.''

She blinks her eyes in owlish manners though, sneaking a glance back at Dave in suspicion. ''You seem real' loving this fin' day,'' she concludes, something skeptical looming in the undertone of her light voice. Dave huffs in melodramatic manners, craning his neck to the side. ''Hold up girl, I've met up with my best bro, been out buying new cool clothes and seen you for the first time in a very long time. Am I not supposed to be at least a little light headed?'' At this, she grins, baring her teeth in another wily smile. ''Sure, sugarkid. Oh- isn't that John's shirt?'' She points out all of sudden. Dave lays his gaze upon her only to find her wagging her eyebrows eagerly.

He hunches his head backwards, shaping fake double chins to display his obvious dismay regarding her question. ''Yeah, I-'' He prompts, shifting his gaze to John, who is much more interested in the biscuits, and back to Roxy again. He shrugs and holds his hands up in humble manners, ''C'mon, it's just a shirt I loaned because, uh..''

''You know why!'' He finishes, as if that being a decent answer. But boy, it is. Jose joins the room shortly after, granting Roxy a kiss before joining her baking. What a wonderful pair. Now Dave is going to drown in baked goods whenever he visits her mansion. That's just perfect.

Now that he pays attention, Jose is actually very tall himself. Well, a few centimetres taller than Dave, that is. But there should be more to mould such a tower like John. He doesn't want to know how tall this unknown lady is, whose relation is mother to John. John never speaks about it.

But hey, Bro is also really, really tall. If not just as tall as John, perhaps. Yet still, Dave is 179. It's just not okay. The sudden urge to go weep somewhere in a dark corner seems tempting at the moment. He must prevent himself from doing so. He swallows the sadness and puffs his chest up to show his pride. Yes, good.

''Dave, what are you doing,'' John asks out of nowhere. Dave makes a face, frowning and redirecting his attention towards John, who is standing awfully close by now. ''None of your precious business, pretty boy,'' he replies without thinking the least.

They both stand in silence, despite the occurring noises in the background from Jose and Roxy chatting keenly. Dave's mouth open and closes like a goldfish´s, trying to say something his brain doesn't compute with.

''I have to go take a piss.''

''Wanna play wii afterwards?''

''...Yes, and I will beat your ass, you sorry fuck''

''We'll see about that, loser.''

* * *

Dave scoots out of the kitchen, this time aiming for taking use of a bathroom downstairs. If he goes up right now, he might gain a heart attack from Casey lurking somewhere. He doesn't want to risk that.

_''Confusing house,'' _He mutters under his breath and squints his eyes. The house is in reality kind of big, he admits. He passes the living room, encounters an office and then a toilet. Halleluja. When closing the door, something prevents him from doing so. His blood goes cold as he from the time to the next is being shoved against a wall, bathroom door closed in front of him and seemingly locked with an audible click, blocked from his view by John himself.

''_Jesus christ_, John!'' Dave hiccups and wheezes for air. There's nothing better than to be crammed against the ceiling by your very best friend out of freaking nowhere. John leans in close, sharing the same oxygen as Dave, settling the fair-haired boy's mind to race, blood throbbing in his temples and surpasses his thoughts. ''_Just shut up_,'' is all he says to make Dave seal his mouth shut. John cranes his neck down - pressing his lips against the others with a tilt of his head.

It's not as soft as the other kiss, rather say keen and ferocious, John massaging the other boy's lips with his own. The force he uses is eagerly returned by the blond head himself, releasing a brief groan when John dips his tongue out daringly, flickering across Dave's lower lip as if proposing an inquiry to explore further. Though, before continuing, he withdraws himself barely, already panting hard when staring into those black shades. He can feel the skin on the bridge of his nose itch slightly by the earlier pressure from the sunglasses. They are ought to get out of the way, and Dave knows that. John manages to grip the frames gently, originally placing them on the sink, but they slide off the edge and down into the bowl.

Something dwelling in his the pit of John's stomach happens to blossom in a matter of milliseconds the moment his eyes locks with ruby. Pupils blown wide, those vibrant eyes stares right back, displaying sudden lust as he blinks and squints his eyes briefly. ''_John_,'' Dave groans through gritted teeth, enough to make John suffocate the distance between them once more.

This time, his patience is vanished, left behind as he prods his tongue between Dave's cherry lips, resulting for the red eyed boy to release another soft moan into the kiss. A twinge happens to occur along Dave's spine when the tips of their tongues connect, and he arches his hips up in response. John nearly clamps his mouth shut in surprise, but luckily prevents himself from doing so, instead answering with a smooth roll of his hips.

Their tongues battles for dominance, John winning – recieves the achieving of exploring further. His tongue straddles the backside of Dave's teeth, afterwards tangling in another playful game. He can feel how Dave is almost tiptoeing on his shabby sneakers, more than willing to be granted additionally attention.

As he clings his hands around the fair-haired boy's waist, he trails them down to cup his ass, lifting the teenager above the ground. Dave gets the idea easily, hoisting his legs in unison with being lifted, clinging them around John's hips snugly and thus becoming on eye level with John. Whilst discovering this new position, he snakes his arms around John's neck for further support, twirling onyx tufts between his fingers without thinking. The position makes it easier for John to access getting closer, giving a hesitant thrust in experimental motions. At this, they break apart, both panting and Dave moaning from the impact of the friction occurring between their pants.

Strings of saliva between them breaks after awhile, silence occurring despite the heavy in and exhaling. John gives another experimental roll of his hips, enjoying how Dave's slightly swollen lips part as he shudders out another needy groan.

_''So good.''_

_/ Author cackles from the darkness  
_


	9. It's the power of love

_**(Warnings: Masturbation & detailed intimate occurence - HJ)**_

_**Constructed: 25-07-201**_

* * *

Dave whips his head up from the fine, heartily carved cave he's made in the palm of his hands as if startled, eyes blown wide as his sight is sent travelling throughout the display of the bathroom. He is placed atop the toilet, rump flattened on the white marble-like lid. Short huffs fills the comprehensive silence in the room. The skin along the bridge of his nose itches due the pressure from his sunglasses from when he had his face hid in his hands. Stretching his fingers, ruby eyes follows every stiff motion they make. Budge, stretch and grasp.

''_Fuck..._'' Croaks he, shutting his eyes as he releases a pained groan.

Putting the usually treasured sunglasses aside on the floor, he slumps lower on the toilet lid. It was just a silly, not very puerile daydream. The door is locked – not blocked from his view by a certain raven haired boy. It was just a simple urge opposing his common sense.

Arousal swell in his lower region, moulded by nothing but images and thoughts emerging in his head. This, of all times, is the worst time to get an erection, let alone create such dirty fantasies. How much time has passed, he doesn't know. It feels like the last time he's had ejaculation has been since forever. Fingers daringly grasping the fabric of the shirt he's borrowed, the consideration appears obvious.

His palm is sweaty against the nape of his neck, but he doesn't care. To increase the swell, he imagines that the stubby touch belongs to John.

John is presumably in the kitchen,

but in the realm of Dave's mind,

he's right next to him.

The imagination of John cramming Dave against the wall is not evident anymore, and instead Dave imagines John kneeling in front of him, hovering over him bit by bit as he has a hand reached up to the nape of Dave's neck.

Dave bares his neck willingly with a tilt of his head to the side, shuddering out a groan he slips his unoccupied hand down the length of his abdomen, lightly grasping the bulge tenting his pants when making it to his lower parts.

He grinds down on the smooth fabric with the 'heel' of his palm, at first in ease, continuing into a more persistent pace.

The grinding continues, turning into more or less grasping until his patience is vanished. Hand hastily unzipping his pants, he subsequently slides it under the elastic band of his boxers. His eyes are no longer closed, but aimed at the occurring motions between his legs. The gentle kneading and rubbing at his nape incessantly keeps on in the mean time. He pretends John is observing his every expression, eyes hungry when he is the one to shyly flutter his hands as a teasing tickle just along Dave's member.

His lips part, whispering a 'John' after another, followed close by small pants and exhaling of captured air.

But then, the doorknob turns in a whisk, and Dave is not sure he's going to heaven anymore when his time will succumb, however ironic that sounds. Close to having a stroke, he is quick to return his hand's along his sides, drawing his knees close up to his face and up onto the toilet lid whereas he sits.

This will be the third time he's having a heart attack today. Yesterday he exceeded his personal, profound limit of heart attacks, but he might aim for a new record yet again this fine day. ''Dave?'' Is the only thing John is capable of saying when he scoot around the now opened door, peeking a look at the flustered teenager.

A furious blush is adorning the pale teen's cheeks, streaking across his throat even and disappearing down his oversized t-shirt.

His hands are clenching the marble rim of the toilet lid, back strictly raised and chest puffed out whilst the heavy, yet barely audible panting involuntarily continues. The ruby eyes are bared, still dilated from something unknown.

Dave opens his mouth and closes it repeatedly, wanting to say something but not precisely able to do so. If he is to raise himself, this will turn into a squeamish game of _spot-the-boner._

''Yes, **John**?'' Dave responds, almost snarling and puts pressure on the last part.

It seems that John is in a pinch. In reality he's not sure what Dave is up to, but realisation is to sink into his skull the more his gaze ingests the current display situated in front of him. His hand is cradling the end of the door, tapping against the wooden surface. This is not supposed to happen like this. A normal, decent human would hurriedly apologize for intruding and then get the hell out of here. John spends miliseconds thoroughly scolding himself for being such a prat.

His gaze shifts to the wall, ''You've been gone for ten minutes? I..'' he stops, considering what is most profitable to say. ''I was worried, you know. Like...''

Smooth, John.

''but you know-''

''John.''

''I can just-''

''John.''

''I'm sorry for-''

''**John**.''

Navy eyes bonds with vibrant red, and John twirls the end of his t-shirt nervously between two fingers.

''I have a hard-on right now.''

''Oh.''

''Yes.''

''So that's why you're-''

''Yes.''

''Should I, perhaps – uhm, leave?''

At this, Dave doesn't answer.

John is still lingering in the doorway, now leaning against it somehow uncomfortably, despite feet nervously tapping and shifting against the tiles.

The fair-haired boy licks his chapped lips and barks out a short-lived laugh, voice hoarse as he raises himself and for no reason in particular dusts off the front of his black pants.

John tries so much not to look, but, of course, utterly fails. Easily spotting the _distraction_ trapped in Dave's pants, he sucks in a breath and fiddles just about ten times more. Dave's mouth feels wobbly and oddly out of place – and so does his lower regions. But he is a Strider. And Striders doesn't cry, neither embarrass themselves. Well, until now.

Faster than possible, Dave bounces off the embarrassment and immediately replaces it with his a resentful attitude, doing his best not to fail in the process. He purses his lips and cocks a brow at John, readjusts his pants and zips them with an overdramatic gesture.

* * *

The rest of the day just goes downhill from there. John is awkward – even more than what Dave can ever be. Which means a lot, that is. And thus, Dave is the one to wonder the most – taking into account how he was the one busted in almost masturbating. Once again, Dave should be the one to be flustered, which he is, but John is even more so.

And when Dave butts into John's personal space when reaching the evening and struts his lips jokingly whilst asking if John is a virgin, the teenager blushes – more than he already did to begin with. John tells him no, resulting in Dave to feel a pang of jealousy wash in over him in waves of sudden rage he didn't know he possessed. Altogether, Dave peeks pranks at John to cover his own waver of embarrassment from earlier on.

They play Wii until the sun setttles outside, and the air begins to smell surprisingly delicious of food. Not a word about the kiss or the commotion in the bathroom has been mentioned. Fleeing from obvious problems is a cowardly stupid thing to do, and they both know that. But as mentioned, not a word about it is shared, and they take seat in the kitchen without saying a thing when dinner is served.

Roxy eyes both of them suspiciously, and Jose just bestows them dinner and kindly chats up with a few common questions. How was your day? How are you feeling? Are you having fun? Those ridiculously puerile questions mostly directed towards kids. But it's nice, and it keeps the conversation going.

John is chewing a mouthful of rice when Roxy babbles up with this doomsday nonsense previously mentioned. He nearly chokes on it and Dave shoots him a worried glance from askew.

''Boy, them maya peeps are right now nursing themselves in the belief that they're gonna die,'' explains she and looks thoughtfully down at her plate of food. Dave snorts out a laugh and swallows a mouthful of wather before answering with a: ''C'mon, that's just stupid.''

''Just because some sorta' old calender is going to extinguish tonight, it doesn't mean the world is going to be popped like a zit the moment it happens, yanno,'' he says, earning a grim look from John.

Jose butts in, saying, ''When entering suburb, something rather peculiar occurred as well. The world as we know today was back then destroyed in a matter of minutes without any signs of warning.''

This, though, shuts Dave's mouth for a while. Silence fills the room until Roxy snorts loudly and slaps Dave, who is sitting next to her, on his shoulder. ''Suburb is over, duh. But if anything happens, we can still assemble in the living room and count the last seconds we have together as we hold hands and sing songs?'' She complies, eyes lid up in joy. In other words, she doesn't believe in this said doomsday, rather jokes about it for the matter of fun.

Her sheepish suggestion earns a smile from John and Jose and a smirk from Dave though, and they all agree that it sounds like a good plan.

* * *

When dinner is done and they are excused, they head upstairs and into John's room. Sitting on the bed, Dave loans John's nintendo and plays the newest Pokémon game, in which he's absolutely bad at. He mulls audibly, throwing a fit with his arms and in the process bumps the back of his head into the wall. John is standing from a distance, face hunched into a sour expression, observing how Dave is being the fool known to be. ''This game is impossible!'' Dave grouses. ''I like the older version better.''

John turns his back to him and takes out another comic from the shelf to read, chuckling in secretive.

Turning around, he is surprised to see Dave glaring back at him – attention no longer regarded toward the game.

Dave is gnawing on his lower lips in fidgety manners, expression readable despite wearing the aviator glasses. The way Dave sits, in such an innocent way, legs bowed to each side and feet nearly touching each other, makes him look puerile. It makes something in John's stomach turn, but not in a bad way. Something that sends chills down his spine, settling him out of concentration for a brief time.

It's cliché and stupid, the way he just asks: ''Dave?'' as if not knowing what else to say. He's got an ocean fulled of droplets of questions urged to be answered, tasks to be fulfilled nagging his nerves.

He's so confused about everything – and mostly about Dave. About the occurrence in the changing room – about the encounter in the bathroom.

''What if this is the end?'' Says Dave, voice uneven and kind of hoarse – the opposite of his usually dapper, smooth voice he possess. The fair-haired boy closes and opens the nintendo repeatedly before placing it beside him on the wrinkled bed duvet. John questions this as well, but doesn't say word. His gaze shifts to the left and then back at Dave again.

Dave seemed to be very confident in his own theory at dinner, but his current demeanour shows quite the opposite. John cradles the bed and turns to sit right beside him, back resting againt the wall, so close to Dave that their shoulders almost touch despite the height difference. It feels cozy.

''I don't think it's the end.'' John answers, honesty looming in his voice. And he truly doesn't. ''Even if it is,'' he continues, craning his neck to look at Dave, who returns the gesture, ''I'm sure we'll save the world. We did it once – and we can do it again.''

A broad, rare smile finds it's way to shape upon Dave's lips. This time, the smile reaches his eyes, it seems, and small dimples shapes on each cheek.

Dave swallows a lump and laughs in earnest, tilting his head up and glares at the ceiling. ''I guess you're right. There's nothing to worry 'bout.'' Says he when he's done chuckling, quickly adding a fond and cheesy ''as long as I've got you beside me.''

John swears his heart skips a beat for a second or two, in following seconds thundering in his chest so much it hurts. His throat goes dry, finding these puzzling feelings hard to define – let alone put into words or motions.

A strong hand promptly straddles Dave's, tan against pale, entwining thick with slender. John's hand is warm and safe – surprisingly comfortable in his grasp. The fair-haired boy bestows a lingering gaze upon the tan boy, lips agape in curiosity.

John doesn't know what this is, or what they are. Though, what he knows, what he feels – is that those thin, thou curved lips seems tempting against his own mouth at the moment.

He is so confused.

It should be silent, but it somehow isn't. He cannot hear his own thoughts due the throbbing in his head and the cue that his heart is ferociously in his throat.

Dave's face is close to his now – he doesn't know how they became this close physically, but...

It's soft.

Only a nip – a hesitant touch, a simple gesture. Those lips with a nuance of a shallow red, chapped but at the same time wet – soft and slow.

Dave makes a noise. A whimper, a word. Barely audible, but still there – flooding within John's mind. They pull apart, and he can remark how Dave's cheeks are slightly affected even in the dim light of the lamp placed atop John's desk in the other corner of the room.

His exhaling comes out breathy, as if a satisfied sigh awaited to emerge. Dave looks a bit disappointed when John withdraws himself, digging his hands into the mattress when he lifts himself and draws himself further away, though not much. John simply gives him a cheeky smile as he reaches his hands up to Dave's face, in which results in Dave to understand why he moved. John achieves better access to take of Dave's sunglasses, and he places them a bit further away on the bed.

When taking a peek at Dave's now bared eyes, he notices the shy look returned, not to mention the fond smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

In the meantime, John plots what his next move is to be. Both of them know what to do, and somehow they don't. It's altogether very confusing, and they clumsily sit in front of each other and share intense, shy glances.

Dave has tried this before – though never something this intimate. This isn't like dragging an eager girl home from a feisty club. This isn't like dating that guy and then share a heated kiss in an alleyway – and the next day he'll be gone. This is John, and no stranger – someone Dave has to look in the eyes the next following days.

Dave leans forward once more, lips briefly touching John's plumb ones before pulling away with a few centimetres again. Teasing, though being hesitant about it.

A firm hand snakes around Dave's waist, pulling him closer – and he easily obliges, raising himself on his knees to shuffle closer. Before he can settle down, John secures his grasp around Dave's waist, unoccupied hand joining as he hoists the boy onto his lap. At this, Dave makes a noise reminding of a squeak or a surprised gasp.

He promptly straddles John's lap, hesitating when letting all of his weight be accepted in John's warm embrace. A hot feeling prickles his skin all over and he chuckles softly . John's loving, occupied glare is also to provide along with it.

Not knowing what to do, he just rests his hand on John's broad chest and the other one around his neck. Their foreheads touches, bumps against one other, nosetips close to brush.

''I love your eyes,'' John whispers.

''I love you,'' replies Dave – mouth getting ahead of him before his mind. He's about to drag it back with a defiant tone, but choses not to when he sees the expression on John's face.

It earns a smile bound to strain muscles in John's jaw, smile so broad and just so _happy_ Dave swears he might die from the sight of it.

This time, John is the one to close the distance between them. He presses his lips gently against those cherry, tilting his head so that their noses doesn't bump and distract. Dave squirms, writhing slightly in order to get closer, hand now clawing John's t-shirt and the other twirling those onyx tufts at the nape of his neck.

At first the kiss is very slow and hesitant - daring, lips barely touching for more than five seconds. When they inhale another gulp of air and are ready again, Dave goes for something more straight forward. He prods John's lower lip between his own lips and bites down so very gently, and John groans softly in return, grasp around Dave's waist tightening.

And thus, the kiss is automatically deepened – plus the encouragement taking effect and boosting the pace of their motions. John lovingly dips his tongue out and runs it along the crack of Dave's mouth, prodding there to display how much he's willing. Dave encouragingly opens his mouth for John to continue, and their tongues meet.

The red eyed boy shudders and pulls a face, though not disturbing the kiss the slightest. He swallows, leaning his chest closer, if even possible and experimentally, barely noticeably, grinds down onto John's clothed groin. But John remarks it easily, shifting his seat whilst trying to hoist himself upwards to meet the other's intentions eagerly.

He finds no success in that, and instead slides his hands down Dave's abdomen, scooting underneath the fabric of the t-shirt. He runs his hand along his spine, smiling into the kiss at how Dave shudders and grinds down, taking use of more force. His skin is so smooth under John's touch in such a fair and delicate way.

John pulls up in Dave's shirt, if not eagerly inquiring that he wants it gone. They pull apart, saliva strings glistening in the dim light until they break and succumb into nothing. Dave sticks his arms into the air, thus helping John pulling it off him.

Shirt discarded, John somewhat hungrily analyses the teenager in front of him - those lightly toned abs and every detail put into right place. He runs a flat hand along the boy's stomach, enjoying how he can _feel_ the muscles flex in anticipation. And nonetheless, Dave can't suppress the goosebumps to appear on his skin. John's other hand is still straddling Dave's back, now letting a thumb run in smooth circles along the dainty skin and every bump along the spine.

Dave continues the grinding in the meantime, teasing thrusts forward and then a slide back into place, urgently attempts to keep the motions ongoing though John's touches sometimes breaks the fine rhythm. His right hand now cards through John's night black hair, soothing actions to increase the comfort and cozy atmosphere.

The tan boy suddenly begins to plant kisses along Dave's jaw line, lingering there for a moment before moving on to his throat. Dave involuntarily releases a tender moan as John mouths the contour of his throat, probing there experimentally. Thinking that Dave smells like something sour, yet sweet and exotic – a mix, he inhales sharply. He continues further down, trying out here and there, sniffing, biting and licking – altogether making Dave slack.

John's arousal is evident, trapped underneath layers of fabric – and it nearly _hurts_ him how aroused he is. Dave can feel _it_ whenever he grinds down in swift moments, baring his teeth in a desiring hiss.

Experimentally, John also brushes a finger along one of Dave's nipples – first accidental, then not so much. The reaction is desired – he sighs a tender moan and arches up in the touch.

_Found a sensitive spot_, John muses innerly and chuckles smugly. Dave's breath is ragged when sucking in a breath, cheeks flustered as he spits out a '_shut up_'.

John does nothing but to bare a fond smile in return, bringing his lips down to one nipple and prods his tongue out when musing; ''I like it. Keep it going,''

The fair-haired boy has a hand curled in John's messy hair by now, trembling a bit.

Amidst the process John tauntingly scoots a hand down between them, slipping his hand down to Dave's clothed crotch. He runs his hand briefly along his clothed groin, grasping a bit tighter for each moan he draws.

Dave throws his head back and let him, fixing his hazy vision into thin air until he can't take it anymore and whines, ''Would you just- touch me- plea-''

What he gets is a sharp bite on the jut of his collarbone and nose nudging his shoulder, his arm. He steals a glare at John only to almost be toppled over by a surprising, sudden kiss, John thrusting his tongue into his mouth until he pulls away to gasp.

John casually unzips his trousers, almost immediately slips his hand down the boxers before Dave is capable of registering what is happening.

Plaintive, eager noises eases its way out of Dave's throat, breath hitching the moment John's palm teasingly flutters along his length.

''Are you sure you want this?'' he suddenly asks, voice thick from something unknown. But he's not hesitant, and his teasing touches continues to occur without missing a beat. It's all delicate taunting.

''Oh- **god**, _yes_- _could you-_- would- **please**?'' Is what John receives, Dave keening unintelligible words as he squirms under John's tricky motions.

He would've enjoyed to tease the teenager any further, but his own patience is fading, lost somewhere in the background as he without any hint of warning firmly grasps Dave's length, getting a feeling of the slick precome already blurting from the head.

Dave huddles closer to John, resting his cheek against his´, once in a while planting small, clumsy kisses there. To support himself from not completely melting into his embrace, he also makes sure to keep himself up, holding a hand against the wall behind John, in which complies with the benefit of being able to thrust into John's touch or grind down.

''_I think-_- **I**-'' Dave keens between gasps, swallowing a lump as a tremor is sent shot through his spine, starting from his scalp to his feet. John complies with a firmer grasp around his length, strokes coming in a stable pace with less teasing.

**''C'mon,'' **He grunts into Dave's ear, voice rasp and ragged.

With another squeeze at the base, it is enough to send Dave toppling the edge, and he comes whilst moaning John's name in a trembling whisper.

Dave is close to falling backwards, exhaustion reaching him like rapid fire as he lets John's embrace accept all of his weight.

But then, John does allow Dave to fall backwards – with his hand supporting his back as he hoises him down onto his back, knees bend and feet resting against the wall. John nestles between his thighs, hovering above him and brings his hand up to his mouth. He tentative dips his tongue out and licks the flat of his tongue along two of his fingers, taking in droplets of salty semen, and he enjoys how Dave is following every bit – ruby eyes still dilated and eagerly observing.

Before settling down, he unbuckles his own pants and finishes his own business – with Dave soothingly running his hands up and down along his strong back, tracing his shoulderblades whilst whispering nonsese. Dave looks up at him with a tired, happy smile and says ''This was amazing,'' when he comes. They share a fond, breathless kiss.

''You're amazing,'' John answers, earnest oblivious in his words.

Before completely giving in to exhaustion, he rolls himself to the side and flops down onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

_Sex has rarely felt this good_, Dave thinks.

Dave is distracted from his thoughts by John's voice, a soft ''_Look_, Dave,'', and he cranes his neck to look askew onto the digital watch standing on John's desk next to the lamp. It's past midnight, and they're alive. Everything is like before. And somehow it isn't.

''It's the power of love,'' John sheepishly adds, grinning at his own joke, eyes flickering to Dave's form as he rolls onto his side.

¨''Roll over,'' is what he gets from the fair-haired boy, ''Imma be the big spoon.''

''No, that's just mean,'' John grouses and pulls an unsatisfied expression.

Though, in the end, they manage to raise themselves and discard the rest of their clothes – besides underwear, and the sleepily lay beside each other, hands entwining until Dave surprisingly is allowed to be the big spoon.

''Thank you for everything,'' Dave sleepily murmurs into John's back.

''Right back at you.''

* * *

''You **what**!?''

An invisible amount of force is shot towards Roxy, though, nonetheless she simply shrugs it off, answering with a roll of her tongue instead in a satisfied hum. ''So sorry applepie,'' she responds, in reality not sounding very regretful at all. ''I mean – it was on goddamn time something happened between ya' two young and awfully hormon distressed teena- – men.''

If only eyes could kill, two holes would adore her skull at the current time.

Dave crosses his arms askew and releases a distracted groan. ''We weren't loud,'' exclaims he, tugging lightly at the edge of the oversized t-shirt he borrowed from yesterday. Waddling around bare has brought nothing but horror after all, he has learnt.

The woman doesn't even attempt to muffle the coy grin escaping her black lined lips, ''boy, it was the reason why we didn't bring you down to assemble in the living room to prepare ourselves for _the end of the world_.''

_''It's the power of love.''_

Dave shudders, words ghosting over his pale skin like a vast breeze. It had presumably been something John had said for fun, but it still struck Dave's heart like an arrow.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peeks a glance over the edge of his sunglasses and at the woman sitting in one of the chairs, sipping her cup of tea. ''Did Jose get a snatch of it as well? Should've brought some amplifiers and all that shit, just so you could've sat down there and earn a foretaste of what sweet love sounds like.'' The last part comes out shaped as a growl, lips thinned in a scowl. ''The album will soon be out, first song goes with the title: _**You and your tan hands.**_''

Roxy snorts yet another time, flashing the distressed teenager a fond smile. ''Don't worry. He didn't hear anything,'' are the reassuring words – as if sent from heaven, making Dave's erratic breath go still for a moment in relief, ''… I think.''

She is quick to continue, saying: ''Well – I was just tumbling down the hallway when I heard these weird noises, you kno'?''

''For a moment I went worried, wanted to see if you kiddos were o.k and everything, but hey, apparently you two were doing _just_ fine – so I ran as if I had the devil stalking my heels, sprinting down the staircase in order not to disturb you peeps.''

Dave cocks a brow.

''It's a fucking relief you didn't just barge in though,'' he says at last, both eyebrows lifted, bemused.

''Did you use protection?''

''Mom!''

''**Okay**, _okay_, **okay,** I'll stop.''

''Thanks.''

''Are you still a butt virgin?''

''**MOM!**''

''OoooOoO**oOooOooOooO**kay, I'll just go make some breakfast then, hon.''

She smirks smugly and excuses herself, slinking into the kitchen.

Dave is leaning heavily against the backside of the couch, following the woman with his eyes from behind the aviator glasses.

_''You're amazing.''_

John is still upstairs – just like yesterday, spending the most of the morning drooling on his pillow, far off this planet in mind. The first thing that hit Dave when he woke up just an half hour ago or so, was the events from yesterday. Or early morning? It was past midnight when they were done, after all. Anyway – _it was a surprise, to say the least._

Dave grimaces.

He remembers the words that were shared between them.

_''I love your eyes.''_

_''I love you.''_

Those words were spilled so easy.

John didn't say 'I love you' back in words, did he?

''Don't get the wrong ideas,'' Dave tells himself in a sullen murmur.

John kissed him in the changing room after all, and he assumes no one were pulling his strings back then.

Dave even got to be the big spoon.

A genuine smile displays upon the fair-haired boy's lips in a brief gesture.

Though, he is not sure what is going to happen from now on. From the other second to the next, they were bro's and now... what?

He assures himself that it will be okay. He's just got to get his mind right. He reassures himself, toes curling inside his woolen socks. He's glad he even got to buy a pair of long, baggy shorts to wear in the morning.

But he forgot underwear.

* * *

Luckily, the rug floor in John's room doesn't make any noise when treaded upon, and Dave is gladly to confirm that securely, now laying on all four as he is tentative to yank the wardrobe open and peek in some of the lower, hidden drawers. He sneaks a hesitant peek at John before diving into the variants.

He's sure he might cry rainbows and golden fairy dust when he finds a pair of decent briefs. John does, apparently, not own any boxers.

_Gay _– is a smaller part of his inner, provoking mind screeching on top of his lungs. But hey, no judging. It's okay to have a lot of briefs, specially if you have the body of a Greek god. It is certainly not like Dave is complaining, not at all, in fact.

The red eyed boy doesn't even consider sneaking his way of out the room again to change, and simply tugs his baggy shorts down in a swift movement, standing firm on the ground. Changing is easy – but the anticipation is still looming somewhere. Even though some obviously... intimate stuff has been going on between John and him, both physically and mentally, Dave still feels awfully aware of his own body, harboring the 'hey-we've-kinda-seen-each-other-and-you-gave-me-a -handjob-but-im-still-socially-and-regarding-appea rance-awkward-as-hell' syndrome.

And John is right there, just a few metres apart from him, laying on his stomach with his left arm hanging over the edge of the bed, blinking at him with his illegally blue, blue eyes.

''_**FUCK**_,'' nearly yells the fair-haired boy, quickly pulling up the other, clean briefs. ''If I don't die sooner or later due pop tart poisoning, I'll die from having an unhealthy amount of heart attacks living at your house!''

John props himself up and yawns loudly, an umcofortable clicking noise emerging from straining his jaw. ''Dude, I just woke up...,'' responds he. So very innocently, it's making Dave gawk in disbelief.

Now that John is more aware of his surroundings, he does, of course, allow his eyes to take a wander in the room, managing to eye Dave's form carefully. Mouth opening and closing, he gapes at Dave, pointing a skeptical finger at the teenager.

''I forgot to buy boxers,'' Dave mulls, brows knitted, gnawing on his lower lip whilst fidgeting. The t-shirt luckily covers the most of his hips and package finely propped in a set of John's own briefs. He cannot help but to feel a tiny bit self-concious.

And it's tearing his mind apart, because he doesn't usually feel like this..

Sure, being insecure most people are, but never has someones opinion and point of view meant _so much_ like John's has for Dave right now. Yesterday, traces of thoughts and exclamations were nowhere to be spotted inside Dave's mind, because things just _happened_, and he didn't have time to think. But he has _now_.

Now John cocks a brow at him, settling him out of his trance. The tan boy jabs a finger at him once more, lightly twitching it upwards, wriggling it in an indicating gesture. Dave completely snaps out of it, a soft, breathy grin escaping his lips as he teasingly lifts up in his shirt, thus displaying a tad of his hips, briefs and the root of his abs.

In return, he earns a soft snort from John, who subsequently grunts a ''Looks good,'' and raises himself completely from the bed, taking the few steps it takes to reach Dave and places a tender kiss to his forehead.

''Do you know how long I've wanted this?'' He murmurs against the warm skin.

''Ya've been pining?'' Dave blatantly babbles – breath caught in his throat.

''Like I was pining for the premiere of Ghost Rider back in 2007? Even more so.''

Something unfolds in Dave's stomach, fluttering and blossoming – triggering a whole new sensation of warm, jittery feelings. He closes the distance between them with a longing hug, snaking his arms around the other's waist, pulling him close. Mouth against the hollow of John's throat, he breathes in the smell of musk and dried sweat – and something else. It feels adequate, reassuring his nerves.

John has wanted and wants Dave, too.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

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	10. Some cliché comedy movie

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* * *

Despite laziness mutely agreed between them, they convince themselves to go take a walk outside in the frigid weather. But first after a quick shower – each one alternately taking turns, ending in Dave almost slipping into John's shower because he is one wily fox.

When fully dressed in warm clothes, newly bought mittens and what not, they tread upon the snow fallen anew outside. Dave, being pale and utterly defenseless against the ferocious breezes dawning upon him, chooses to zip his also newly bought hoodie up as far as it can go – a knitted scarf neatly tied around his neck like a cherry on top.

John, on the other hand, is wearing the same as yesterday when he departed to the mall. A gray coat with black buttons, this time not dazzling with his blue scarf, which Dave, as aforementioned, is borrowing. But he does, in turn, borrow Dave's white beanie.

The snow crunches delicately underneath their shoes for each step they make, trashy red sneakers and military boots. The fair-haired boy is more than likely tempted to entwine his fingers with John's but choses not to, despite the convincingly affirming commotion this morning. Besides, they're both wearing mittens, so the warmth is unnecessary, Dave consoles to himself.

As they make their way down the pavement, John happens to sneak some glances at Dave. ''Do you think I'm like other people?''

Dave continues his animatedly trotting, but a thoughtful look is carved into his features when he looks back at John through the aviator shades. A sigh eases its way out of his teeth, tongue darting out to swipe along his lower lip as he for a moment somehow begrudgingly scrutinizes said question.

''You sound like one of those suicidal teenage girls whose life depends on what other people think.''

He smiles.

´'Think there's a lotta ways to define a person as speciel, you know. Like the way you walk for an example,'' he states, the rest coming out lamely in a monotone voice, making John squint his eyes.

''You're bowlegged, and you saved the whole universe along with twelve zodiac aliens, seven teenagers, two adults, sprites and what the fuck not. If you gotta go, you gotta go far.'''

''So I think you're pretty special,'' Dave smirks.

John cracks a honest laugh, a sigh radiating relief following suit. ''You really have your ways with words.''

''It's my Strider charm. Not that Bro has any of it, though,'' he yaps nonchalantly, a coy smile perching upon his lips. As their walking continues, not a word is shared between them for a while. Well, of course until Dave is to break the silence.

''Why do you ask?''

At this, John somehow ignores Dave's question, blinking owlishly at the dozens of snow far ahead as he holds his chin high, not having a scarf to burrow half of his face in like Dave has. He lifts his shoulders swiftly in a quick shrug, eyes incessantly averting the red eyed's curious glare directed at him. ''Dunno,'' murmurs he, sucking in a breath of frigid air.

Dave never knows where he _has_ John, so to speak. From a moment to another John is secure, goofy and what follows close behind, and then insecure and tentative. Though, taking into account how Dave's routine of moods and harbored feelings shrivels up and down alternately and just as erratically, he is not one to complain. After all, they're only human.

They catch a few people eyeing them with suspicion or what might be identified as interest when they make it to the park, much to their surprise. John squints his eyes and glares dagger at a few of them over his shoulder, Dave walking beside him and eyeing them back with just as much suspicion.

''Do they even have a legit reason to stare at us like that?'' Dave asks when John returns his attention to the bared path snaking it's way ahead in the park. John, once more, passively shrugs with a quick lift of his shoulders, not even bestowing Dave a glance.

Once more, the fair-haired boy choses not to comment on it, eyes fleetingly searching distraction.

Considering how the air is frigid like an arctic day on the North Pole, a surprisingly tender amount of people have chosen to spend the morning – soon the be noon in the park. The park itself isn't incredibly huge, but not small either. Profitable for a long jog and sightseeing as well, despite flowers and trees being either covered in snow or succumbed to the coldness.

Encountering a little labyrinth of trees, forgotten snow-covered paths and hedges, Dave joyfully entagles himself in a puzzling mess, in reality not knowing where his sudden gleeful mood has emerged from. He's all of sudden put distance between John and him, first of all collided a flat hand against the blue eyed´s shoulder, sending him nearly reeling over.

His feet are sent tapping strenuously against the snow in a haul of running, flattening the budging snow underneath his trashy sneakers as he runs for his dear life. The situation somehow seems awfully familiar.

On his way cornering a tree, he leans himself hastily down and manages to dove his mittens underneath the cold surface of the snow, gathering up a loose amount of glittering cold mass, subsequently effortly shaping it into a ball in his hands.

Eighteen years old and too old for snowball fights- _my ass_.

A little further ahead, John appears behind a hedge, a wild look painted in his blue orbs. Dave, becoming slightly aware of the hasty situation, glares down at his mittens to realize how _infuriating_ bad his choice of mittens has been. He tries to clumsily mash it into something _throwable_, and oh, he aims – he hovers his arm and puts every fiber of muscles into a honorable throw, only to watch the snow succeed passing two meters before disintegrating and melt into the snow dazzling the ground.

John smirks devilishly in return, lifting his brows as he puffs out a snort reminding of a laugh. ''**IT'S NOT FUCKING FAIR, YOU GOT THE _GOOD_ MITTENS**!'' Dave barks from the distance , making a face in self-pity. He never really manages to yap other colorful words before settling into running again, John following close behind with a nurtured snowball in his hand.

Rounding yet another corner, the raven haired boy digs his military boots into the soft ground to abruptly stop his motions. Dave is nowhere to be seen, and ahead are lots of trees and branches entwined into fences of barriers and illusions.

Blue orbs are scanning the area meticulously, blinking owlishly when finding none marks to prove anyone having been here. The snow is clear as ever, none having treaded upon it.

He can hear himself in- and exhale erratically from running, chest heaving swiftly underneath his coat. It's quiet.

''Dave?''

All of sudden, a wild roar of a man fills the air and the noise of snow repeatedly being mashed appears soundly in John's ears. He can barely prevent from falling, breath knocked out of his lungs as Dave attacks him from behind, jumping onto his back, clinging to him and thereafter pinning him to the ground. His face is met by a ruthless surface of Dave's mitten, a snip of snow nearly engraved into his face as Dave rubs it against him, his brave outbursts of roars turning into grinning whilst at it.

And before John can register anything, Dave has stolen his beanie with a quick motion of his hand. He raises himself when Dave merciless begins to back away again, and as John approaches him, Dave hauls the hat backwards and into the air in reflex.

* * *

''I can't believe you,'' John grins, even loudly. He nudges Dave's shoulder with his own. They are by now sitting on a bench further ahead from where they fought, both asses cold as ice. Dave snorts, plucking his aviator glasses off his face to polish them. He grimaces, nose scrunched whilst blinking repeatedly, cussing under his breath by the brightness of the snow. ''Might as well turn blind,'' complains he. Before returning the shades to their rightful spot, he spares John a simple glance.

John's face is split in bliss, an eventful smile that leaves him looking a tad boyish. And it's funny – because being as tall and slightly broad as he is, it shouldn't be possible. But it'll always remain that way, Dave innerly supposes. It's a part of his features to have that young look on his face, those huge, azure eyes and bucked front teeth.

He leans forward and gives John a quick, surprising peck on his nose in a hasty move, smiling softly. An astonished expression is showing upon John's face when Dave retreats, not to mention upturned, wobbly curls at the corners of his mouth.

There it is again. That bubbly feeling swelling in his stomach, making him both flabbergasted and urging for more of that sickly sweet sensation.

Chewing gently on his lower lip, John bestows the ground a dreamy look and shyly adjusts his seat, scooting closer to Dave partly.

''I think you're beautiful,'' Dave suddenly says.

John looks up and cranes his neck to the right, eyes bonding with two vibrant red eyes.

''I think you're pretty fucking special, and I adore every part of you, from your bow legs to your bad choices in movies. From your lame humor to the way you talk. From the way you enjoy helping other people to your _adorabkle _clumsiness.''

The half of Dave's face is currently buried in his blue scarf, but John can sense it anyway, spot how a tender smile streaks wonderfully across his features, nose red from the cold and perked up as usual with that little natural strut it has. John leans forward, lifting a hand up to tug down the front of the scarf to grant the man a tentative kiss.

Their lips meet in a brief kiss, followed closely by another quick one – and then another. Small aunty kisses without retreating or shifting distance. John's lips are chapped and raw against Dave's, and he darts his tongue out and swipes is gently along Dave's lower lip, inquiring further progress. Just as Dave parts his lips to access, faint noises of chattering appears in the background, turning more audible for every second.

As if they're burnt from the intimate gestures, they both immediately adjusts their seats, Dave snorting as he yank up in his scarf to cover his mouth and John, who scoots a few remarkable centimetres away from the other man. Dave also makes sure to put on his shades again.

A couple passes them shortly after, greeting them with kind smiles. Dave and John greets in returns, John baring his teeth in one of those way too kind - though strained smiles. The couple returns to their state of talking, disappearing down the bared path. The duo doesn't share a word before the couple's voices dwindles into the distance.

''Where's your hat?'' John asks, scrunching his nose up in a quick sniff. Dave gives him a questioning glare in return, mouth lightly agape as he analyses said question. Suddenly a gasp eases its way out of his throat, and he raises himself from the bench. ''I threw it somewhere when we were manhandling each other!'' He moans in frustration, eyes settled into a roll in annoyance. John sucks in his lip and blinks innocently. ''Dave, watch your words.''

Dave sticks out his tongue and grins brightly, bobbing his eyebrows up in a naughty gesture. John is so done.

* * *

After what seems like forever, they find Dave's beanie hung atop a branch settled a tad high above their heads from where they had 'fought'. ''Really?'' Dave huffs, mostly to himself, eyeing the beanie carefully.

''This is like some sort of cliché comedy movie, holy shit.''

''I can use a branch to push it down,'' suggests John, eyes sent scanning the ground for any abandoned branches. Dave snorts at this, dismissively patting John's back before making his way towards targeted tree. ''I'll do this one, don'tcha' worry,'' yaps he nonchalantly, getting into position to climb the tree. John stands from a distance, observing ongoing situation with skeptical eyes.

So far it's going well, Dave climbing effortly, though close to squatting down at one point. John is almost having a heart attack from major ground, sucking in breath after breath and hisses them out through gritted teeth in uneasy gestures. For further safety, he holds his arms open and a bit hovered – in case the man would slip and fall. ''You know, I think I'd prefer you alive,'' states John uneasily, ending it with a stuttering laugh, as if not sure if said words being a joke or simply truth.

Dave fakes a bratty laugh from above, snarling out a ''_**very funny.**_'' He huff when taking another huge step, concentration thick in the air as he succeeds making it to the branch whereas the beanie is hanging. Luckily, the branch is presumably thick enough to carry Dave, and he daringly climbs atop it with slight complications.

Scoot, ''I'm like a stealth ninja after all,'' scoot, ''you shouldn't worry,'' scoot, ''I've got thi-''

John is close to having a stroke. Dave, in the middle of a ruthless wriggle, accidentally slides a bit too far on the left and reels over. But instead of falling, he is caught by something else. A part of his hoodie has been caught in the small scrapes along he branch – few snips of wood sticking out and tangling with it.

And there he is.

The hoodie, along with his t-shirt underneath is mercilessly yanked up, revealing his abdomen, though luckily not all of his chest, yet parts of it. He is left dangling, only held by his hoodie from behind, arms flailing until groping at the start of his it, using it as leverage. ''JOHN,'' he barks in a mix between laughter and surprise, scoffing erratically as he attempts to turn around and get a hold of the branch – yet in vain.

John is split between entertainment, fright and arousal. Arousal from the bared, delicate skin, the barely prominent happy trail from his pants hanging too low, the cherry lips agape and the complaining moans he releases. John is such a sick bastard, and oh my god he better do something right now!

John is frantic, hovering his hands above his head as he yells nearly unintelligible words at Dave, who can barely hear him from the rushing adrenaline in his temples.

''_**WHAT!?**_''

''**UNZIP THE GODDAMN HOODIE!'' **

''YOU WANT ME TO _**WHAT**_?''

''I SAID: **UNZIP. THE. DAMN. HOODIE**!''

''_SERIOUSLY_?''

''JUST _**DO IT!**_''

Clumsily, Dave fingers the zipper, well, at least tries, hands flailing and hurriedly searching for the plastic appendage between the crinkled layers of fabric scruffed together. He does at least find it, tugging it like it depends his very life. It's difficult, and he has to somehow straighten the hoodie in order to actually unzip it.

He only needs to drag it a little further down before the magic starts to take place, his weight making it difficult for the thin layer of fabric to hold him up, and he automatically worms his way out of the hoodie, slipping down with a ''_**FUUUCK**_''. It all passes by in a blink of an eye, John scurrying forward with open arms and Dave falling. Though, in the end it doesn't result in pure elegance, John laying on the snow bedazzled ground with Dave atop him, both gasping rapidly for air. For a moment or two, it's silent – only the thumps of their hearts beating and their incessant breaths audible.

And then they laugh.

John props himself up, tears close to leaking from the corners of his eyes as he laughs, honest and audible – and a bit relieved. Dave chiming in, grunts, though doesn't bother stopping himself, supporting his forehead in a facepalm.

* * *

In the end, Dave is to kiss his butt lucky that his scarf wasn't entangled, because then that'd be one hell of a mess. Though, he is by now not wearing any hoodie, and must leave it hanging on the tree, much to his dismay. John offers him his coat, but Dave simply refuses. Instead, they walk close side by side, John swinging an arm around Dave's back to caress his bare arm.

They're still laughing though, chatting back and forth. Dave is tripping balls though, on the brink of freezing to death he says, and therefore demands to be brought home immediately. John doesn't complain.

But just before leaving the park, John is stopped by a sudden grasp of his shoulder. He turns around, Dave following suit, to find a blonde headed man staring intently at them. The face is very familiar to John.

''Dean,'' he snaps, perhaps a little too quickly to be a warm gesture. The man glares back somehow affronted, but offers him a scrupulous smile. Rather say a tug of muscles. The man is taller than Dave, but not John. He tilts his head, chestnut brown eyes scanning the men displayed in front of him. ''Fancy seeing you here, John.'' He greets timidly.

Dave is heaving beyond suspicion, alternately eyeing John and the stranger in curiosity and something he can't identify.

''What are you doing here?'' John asks, voice turning more strict and uneasy. Dean shrugs in return and offers another half-hearted smile, ''you know, jogging for the upcoming match.'' And truth be told, Dean is wearing not an awful lot of extra clothes compared to the degree of weather, instead wearing sports clothes and gloves.

''Nice,'' responds John shortly, grip around Dave's arm tightening the faintest, but the red eyed boy notices it easily. Dean's smile is tight-lipped, chin held a tad high as his brown eyes levels at Dave.

''You didn't answer my last text messages,'' Dean says dryly after a decent amount of silence, eyes returning to John. Dave's teeth are chattering now due the coldness seeping through. John's jaw clenches, eyes squinted the tiniest. Dave notices this as well, and the tension is so thick he could cut it in half with a katana if he had one at the current time.

''Didn't have the time,'' he answers promptly.

Dave coughs. ''My name is Dave Strider – friend of John, '' he suddenly says, nodding in acknowledge to Dean.

Dean returns the gesture flatly with a quick ''Dean Jovel.''

And that's it. John backs away with a less forced smile though, saying a ''well, it was nice speaking to you, Dean._._''

* * *

They take part. Dean jogs further into the park, and John with Dave makes their way home.

When they're out of hearing distance, Dave immediately stutters out a questioning ''Care to explain what the hell just happened?'' John sighs deeply before answering. ''Just a teammate from football, nothing else.''

Dave doesn't take bullshit, he truly doesn't. ''Dude, we've lived among humanity in average for about no less than a half year or longer, and you've already made a rival?'' Dave says, placing a prompt hand against his chest along with a faked sniff, ''you grow up so fast.''

''Shut up,'' John grins.


	11. Author's note

Hello, darlings.

I apologize – this is not a new chapter, unfortunately!

But I've come to tell you guys that I've successfully constructed the chapters of the story altogether. That also includes that I have changed a few of the scenes – and adjusted grammar errors, puns and sentences akin – in order to widen the mark segment.

If you find any grammatical mistakes – something you like – or just anything you dislike – for the sake of justice, haha,; you can tell me. Either send a private message or leave a review. Constructive criticism doesn't do much harm, and I will be happy if you contribute with just about anything. Either criticism, compliments (description of why you may happen to like the story), ideas or anything else. It'll help me improve greatly.

Also; as you may notice, I have changed the description of the summary, aha. I'd say it's a bit more _fitting_, to be honest. ~~~~ And the story has been renamed; Mutual. Also more fitting.

Thank you so much for reading!

I do not wisely know if any chapter will be out soon, because I have a lot of work to do – and I am subsequently to attend a boarding school. Which means I'll be under surveillance most of the time, goddammit.

Have a continuously nice summer!

**Love; Puttefujs.**


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